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OH,  the  sun  is  bright  and  the  day  is  fair, 
And  the  sweet  breeze  ' 


jreeze  wanders  everywl 
sing  as  they  lightly  fly, 
.  join  them,  Joe  and  I. 


And  the  sweet  birds 
And  I  wish  we  could  jo: 

We  were  bidden  to  listen,  and  so  we  do, 
Shut  up  in  the  narrow  and  stuffy  pew ; 
Behaving  just  as  well  as  we  can 
'Ye  look  over  there  at  the  preacher-man. 


We  can't  understand,  though  we  take  such  pains; 
All  sense  seems  gone  from  our  little  brains; 
So  we  just  sit  quiet  as  best  we  may, 
And  wait  till  the  long  hour  wears  away. 

Oh,  how  can  he  have  so  much  to  say, 
The  preacher-man,  such  a  lovely  day? 
And  what  in  the  world  he  is  talking  about 
We  do  not  know  and  we  can't  find  out. 


OUR  BOYS. 


* — STORIES,  POEMS  AND  SKETCHES, — * 

8Y     LAURIE    LOBLNG,      LOUISA    M.    ALCOTT,      SARA     CONANT,     CELIA    THAXTER.     OLIVE 
THORNE,    AND  ROGER  QUIDDAM. 


Edited  by  THOMAS  W.  HANDFORD. 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO: 
BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO. 

1889. 


COPYRIGHT 

1886. 
BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO. 


PS 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

A  Miserable  Man Anon.  201 

A  Provident  Little  Bird "        76 

A  Queer  Fairy "      177 

A  Sparrow  in  Mid- Atlantic "       104 

Bobbit's  Boat "      153 

Building  a  Fort "      118 

"Can't  Help  It" "        66 

Camels "       166 

Carrie's   Picnic "      197 

Carry's  Troubles  Edgar  Fawcett    45 

Destroying  the  Cargo Laurie  Loring    98 

Dreaming. Anon.     26 

Father's  Portrait "       188 

First  Hide Laurie  Loring    17 

Grandma's  Story "  94 

Grandmother's  Specs Louisa  M.  Alcott    36 

"He  Put  a  Little  Sugar  in " Anon.  110 

How  the  Sheep  Found  He  Was  Black "      183 

Joe's  Fourth  of  July Sara  Conant    29 

Keeping  Robbie  Still Anon.  168 

Little  Haymaker Laurie  Loring    91 

Mother  Darling's  Family "  160 

My  Little  Friend Louisa  M.  Alcott  138 

Ned's  Team Laurie  Loring    40 

Nelly's  Fault Anon.     18 

On  the  Keel "        85 

Our  Little  News  Boy Louisa  M.  Alcott    23 

Poor  Jack '. Anon.     56 

"  Shine,  Sir  —  Shine ! " Mary  Haines  Gilbert      8 

Skip Anon.     65 

The  Boy  Who  Took  Care  of  His  Grandmother 130 

The  Fate  of  Five  Little  Kittens Anon.  124 

The  Girl  Who  Was  Afraid  of  a  Dog Olive  T/iorne  163 

The  Greedy  Bird  that  Wanted  to  Eat  a  Boy Anon.  145 

The  Kind  Neighbor "      120 

The  Sailor  Boy "      110 

The  Squint-eyed  Party "        47 


Tide-Marks 
Two  Families. . , 
Washed  Ashore , 
Which  ?. . . 


Willy's  Naughty  Day. 
Uncle  Bert's  Letter . . 


128 
192 
150 
100 
171 
69 


2036165 


INDEX. 


POETEY. 


PAGJ 


A  Little  Boy's  Wonder-Song  ................................  Anon  . 

Dirty  Jack  ................................................  Anon. 

Going  to  School  ...........................................     " 

I  Had  a  Sweet  Little  Doll  .................................     " 

Make  a  Glad  Noise  to  the  Lord  ................  Thomas  W.  Handford 

Mrs.  Rat's  Children  .................................  Laurie  Loring 

My  Squirrel  ...............................................  Anon. 

Pussy  and  I  ...............................................     " 

The  Bird's  Week  ...........................................     " 

The  Kingbird  .......................................  Celia  Thaxter 

The  Legend  of  Robin  Red-breast  ..................  Hoskyns-AbrahaU 

The  Long  Sermon  ................................  A  non.     Frontispiece. 

The  Ruined  Nest  ...................................  Laurie  Loring    62- 

Towzer  ...................................................  Anon.     74 

True  Contentment  ................................  Roger  Quiddam    63^ 


106 
107' 
116 
181 
35 
21 
136 
54 
205 


64 


ILLUSTKATIONS. 


The  Long  Sermon  . . . 

A  Sparrow  on  the  Sea 105 

Bessie  Writing  Her  Letter 73 

Captain  Boyntbn 101 

Carry's  Troubles 45 

Chick-a-dee-dee 77 

Dirty  Jack 109 

Fourth  of  July 30 

Gathering  Wild  Flowers 144 

Grandmother's  Specs 37 

Happy  Days 103 

"He  Built  His  Nest  Aloft".. . .  137 

Home  Again  ! 207 

In  the  Swing 81 

Little  Victor 131 

Mabel's  Pets 125 

My  Gallant  Sailor  Lad Ill 

Nan  Dreaming 27 

Ned's  Team.. 43 

Nora,  the  Fairy 178 

Poor  Jack 57 

Prairie  Dogs 96 

Pussy  and  1 55 

Robert  as  Grandfather 7 

Seaside  Pleasures 155 

"  Shine,  sir,— Shine!" 9 


Skip 67 

Stung  by  Bees 199 

Susy  On  Her  Way  to  School  ...  117 

"Sweep,  Oh!" 185 

The  Children 143 

The  Good  Samaritan 121 

The  Greedy  Eagle 147 

The  Happy  Family 161 

The  Hungry  Fox 194 

The  Little  Student 49 

The  Maiden  at  the  Spring 75 

The  Miser  and  His  Gold 203- 

"The     Prettiest    Doll    in    the 

World" 182 

The  Rats  at  Play 22 

The  Robin's  Nest 64 

The  Ruined  Nest 62 

The  Ship  of  the  Desert 167 

The  Youthful  Artist 189 

"  Tim  Dashed  in  Among  Them"  13 

Treasure  Trove 151 

Trusty  Tige 87 

Venice 71 

Willie's  First  Ride 19 

Willy  and  Molly 173 

Winter  Scene  . .  35- 


ROBERT  AS   QRANDKATHER. 


;  SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE! 


SHINE,  SIR— SHINE!" 

USTY  little  Tim  stood  on  Park  Row, 
blacking  box  and  brush  in  hand,  cry- 
ing, "Shine,  sir  —  shine!" 

From  seven  in    the  morning  till 
noon  Tim  had  captured  eight  custo- 
mers, and  he  had  just  turned  a  som- 
erset, rejoicing  over  his  good  luck. 
"Hi!  forty  cents!  ain't  I  rich,  though!" 
"  How  goes  it  wid  you?"  said  a  familiar  voice. 
Tim  started  to  his  feet,  and  faced  his  rival,  Bill. 
"Ye  don't  seem  glad  to  see  me,"  laughed  Bill. 
"  No  more  I  ain't,"  answered  Tim,  frankly.    "  Hoped 
ye'd  gone  for  good." 

Bill  had  been  missing  for  a  week. 
"Tried  Union  Square,"  he  explained;  "'tain't  wot 
it's  cracked  up  to  be  up  there." 

As  Bill  spoke,  an  old  gentleman  came  along,  whose 
boots  were  dusty  indeed. 

"Shine,  sir  —  shine!"     Tim  and  Bill  both  pounced 
upon  him,  speaking  together. 

"  He's    mine,"    cried  Bill ;  "  I  seed  him  fust.     Git 
along,  you !     Had  it  to  yeself  long  nuff.     Git  along  !  " 
"  I  seed  him  quick  as  you,"  said  Tim. 


SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE!" 


"Don't  quarrel,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  looking 
distressed. 

"  It  hain't  quarlen  we  be,"  explained  Bill.  "  I  have 
them  what  I  hollers  to  fust,  and  he  has  them  what  he 
hollers  to  fust." 

"But  if  you  both  speak  at  once,  what  then?" 

"Then  the  gent  picks  atween." 

"Well,  I  take  the  small  one,"  the  old  man  said, 
looking  behind  him  for  Tim. 

But  Tim  had  retreated  around  the  corner,  warned 
by  the  threatening  fist  of  big  Bill.  Bill  often  played 
the  tyrant  in  a  small  way. 

"He  hain't  no  account,  any  how,"  said  Bill;  he 
hain't  no  strent  in  his  arms,  like  me,  to  shine." 

"Go  ahead,  then." 

Bill  blacked  the  old  man's  dusty  boots,  and  was 
handed  a  fifty  cent  stamp  to  change.  He  had  not  a 
penny  in  his  pockets;  so  he  beckoned  to  Tim,  who 
had  ventured  in  sight  again. 

"Got  stamps  for  this,  hey?" 

Tim  produced  four  ten  cent  bits  and  two  fives. 

"  It's  wuth  ten,  so  it  is,"  said  Bill,  as  the  old  man 
counted  the  change. 

"Is  it?     I  thought  five  was  the  regular  price." 

"  But  yer  boots  were  more  'an  riglar  dirty,"  com- 
plained Bill. 

"I'll  give  you  each  five,"  said  the  old  man.  "You, 
little  fellow,  drink  my  health  in  lemonade;  it's  a  hot 

10 


SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE!" 


day."     He   wiped   his   forehead  with  his  yellow  silk 
handkerchief,  and  went  on  his  way. 

"  He's  a  jolly  old  cove,"  said  little  Tim,  rubbing 
his  hands  in  delight. 

"Jolly  for  ye!"  growled  Bill.  "Ye  have  five  for 
nothin';  that's  luck;  and  you've  always  got  money 
saved  up  too,"  he  went  on,  enviously.  "  I  have  nary 
red." 

"But  ye  make  lots  more  nor  I,"  said  Tim.  "I 
made  three  dollar  fifteen  last  week  —  a  heap  for  me  ye 
know.  Now,  I've  most  four  dollar  saved  up  for  some- 
thing." 

"  What're  ye  goin'  to  do  wid  it?  "  asked  Bill. 

"  Give  it  to  Granny  Maloy  for  nussin'  me  when  I 
was  sick." 

"  I  wouldn't  give  it  to  any  granny,"  said  Bill ;  "  I'd 
go  on  a  bust." 

Tim  shook  his  head. 

The  next  morning  Bill  was  on  the  ground  first; 
he  had  already  blacked  two  pairs  of  boots,  when  Tim 
appeared.  "I'm  head  o'  ye,"  said  Bill. 

"  Ye-e-s,"  returned  Tim,  looking  down  at  his  ~  bare 
toes,  and  then  at  Bill,  as  if  there  was  something  else 
he  wanted  to  say. 

"Wai,  what're  ye  starin'  at  me  wid  cat's  eyes  fer?" 
cried  Bill,  angrily. 

"Did  ye  know  that  I  changed  for  ye  were  a  bad 
one?"  asked  Tim,  faintly. 

11 


SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE!" 


"Did  I  know?"  cried  Bill,  his  fists  uplifted. 

"  I  didn't  mean  ye  did  know,"  gasped  Tim.  "  Coorse 
ye  didn't;  but  it  were." 

"He'd  orter  be  tuck  up,"  cried  Bill,  with  indig- 
nation. 

"I  guess  he  couldn't  a-knowed,"  said  Tim;  "but  — 
but  —  ye'll  take  it  back?" 

"Now,  lookee  here,"  said  Bill,  squaring  his  elbows; 
"it  hain't  me's  to  blame.  Ef  ye  ever  ketch  him  pass- 
in',  lay  hold  onter  him ;  that's  all  wot  I  says." 

"  Ef  you'd  let  me  borry  that  much  of  ye,  I'd  pay  it 
back,  'cause  Granny  — 

"Git  out!"  roared  Bill.  "I  hain't  nothin'  but  ten 
pence,  as  I  made  this  mornin';  an'  ef  I  had  oceans  on 
oceans,  you'd  git  none  for  yer  granny." 

Tim  fell  back. 

Noon  came,  and  Tim  had  only  made  five  cents. 
Bill  had  flourished  his  long,  stout  arms  even  more 
than  usual. 

"  He  means  to  drive  me  off  altogether,"  said  Tim 
to  himself.  "I'll  try  somewhar  else  to-morry,  though 
they's  all  about  alike.  They's  always  some  one  to 
knock  ye  down." 

Later  in  the  day,  as  Tim  stood,  the  picture  of  care, 
in  front  of  the  Times  Building,  he  saw  an  old  gentle- 
man rushing  by.  Then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  yel- 
low silk  handkerchief. 

"Stop  him,  Bill  —  stop  him!"  he  cried,  at  the  top 
of  his  voice. 


'•  SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE!" 


Bill  saw  the  old  man ;  but  he  did  not  move.  Tim 
ran  himself  as  fast  as  his  feet  would  carry  him  after 
the  owner  of  the  yellow  handkerchief.  Cars  and  carts,, 
and  vehicles  of  all  kinds  blocked  up  the  way.  Tim 
dashed  in  among  them. 


"Take  care!"  cried  a  driver. 

It  was  too  late.  A  policeman  held  little  Tim  irt 
his  arms.  A  crowd  gathered  around. 

"Is  he  kilt?"  asked  a  ragged  youth,  blacking  box 
and  brush  in  hand.  It  was  Bill. 

"  Might  as  well  be,"  answered  the  policeman,  gruff- 
ly ;  but  a  tear  fell  on  Tim's  yellow  hair. 

13 


"SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE  I 


The  crowd  fell  back  at  command,  and  Tim  was 
borne  away. 

"Twern't  my  fault,"  Bill  said  stoutly  to  himself  all 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon ;  yet  every  now  and  then  he 
felt  a  strange  choking  in  his  throat. 

The  next  forenoon  Bill  was  very  diligent,  and  up 
to  one  o'clock  he  had  made  seventy  cents.  "  I  wonder 
if  they'll  let  a  fellar  like  me  in,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  counted  over  the  money;  "but  anyways,  I  kin  send 
up  the  stuff." 

Of  a  sidewalk  dealer  he  bought  some  oranges, 
lemons,  and  bananas.  Then  he  started  for  Bellevue 
Hospital. 

"  No  admittance  without  a  permit." 

"That's  the  how,  eh?"  Bill  said,  scowling  at  the 
clerk  a  moment;  then  he  asked,  in  a  voice  rough,  but 
with  an  undertone  of  anxiety,  "  Tim's  alive  yet  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Little  Tim,  wot  was  run  over  wid  the  cars  yes- 
terday." 

"There  are  so  many  brought  in,"  answered  the 
clerk.  "What  is  his  other  name?  I'll  look  on  the 
books." 

"  Never  heerd  wot  his  other  name  were.  A  little 
mite  of  a  fellar  —  barefoot  —  yaller  hair." 

"  I  remember  him  now,"  answered  the  clerk ;  ribs 
knocked  in;  he  is  dead." 

Bill   hurried  away  without  a  word    his  face  was 

14 


;  SHINE,  SIR  — SHINE! 


working ;  he  brushed  away  hot  tears  with  his  ragged 
sleeve.  "Dead!  Dead!"  he  kept  repeating.  He 
walked  across  town  to  Madison  Square.  On  his  way 
he  gave  the  oranges,  and  lemons,  and  bananas  that  he 
had  bought  for  Tim,  to  a  little  beggar  girl ;  she  began 
to  devour  them  on  the  spot.  He  walked  away  from 
her,  crying. 

"  Ef  I  only  knowed  where  Granny  Maloy  lived,  I'd 
go  see  her,"  he  thought. 

"So  you've  deserted  the  field  to  the  other." 

Bill  started ;  he  half  clinched  his  fists,  as  if  he 
would  strike  the  old  man  who  spoke  to  him.  "  It's 
you  kilt  him,  not  me,"  he  said,  fiercely. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  draw- 
ing out  his  yellow  handkerchief. 

"  I  wish  it  was  me  dead  instead,"  said  Bill,  turning 
his  face  away.  "  It  was  you  did  it,"  he  went  on,  brok- 
enly. "  I  know  them  doctors;  they'll  hack  him  all  into 
pieces." 

In  another  minute  the  old  man  knew  all.  He 
looked  cut  to  the  heart.  "  Dead  !  "  he  said  ;  "  and  all 
because  of  a  counterfeit  stamp." 

"  He  didn't  b'lieve  you  knowed  'twas  bad.  Ef  ye 
are  good,  leastways  ye'll  bury  him  in  a  coffin  —  won't 
ye?" 

I'll  bury  him  in  Greenwood  in  my  own  lot,"  the  old 
man  said,  with  tears. 

Bill  retraced  his  steps  hand  in  hand  with  the  other. 

15 


SHINE,  SIR  —  SHINE !' 


A  little  later,  together  they  leaned  over  a  little  still 
form,  with  pale,  yellow  hair. 

******** 

In  Greenwood  little  Tim  sleeps,  a  white  cross, 
crowned  with  stars,  at  his  head.  On  the  cross  is  writ- 
ten, "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Bill  is  try- 
ing to  learn  the  meaning  of  these  words.  He  has 
taken  up  little  Tim's  work.  It  would  be  too  long  a 
story  to  tell  you  how  he  hunted  up  Granny  Maloy, 
and  how  peaceful  he  is  making  her  last  days ;  but  I 
must  tell  you  that  as  Bill  stands  in  his  box  on  Park 
Row,  selling  papers  ( for  he  keeps  a  news  stand  now ), 
he  gives  many  a  saddened  glance  to  the  little  boys 
who  pass  by,  crying,  - 

"  Shine,  sir  —  shine  !  " 

"  If  it  were  only  to  do  over  again,"  he  says. 

But  we  can  never  live  over  the  past. 

MARY  HAINES  GILBERT. 


16 


FIRST   RIDE. 


FIRST  RIDE. 

THINK  few  little  boys  ever  enjoyed  anything 
more  than  Willie  did  his  first  ride  on 
old  Charlie. 

Charlie  was  papa's  farm  horse ;  and 
he  was  so  slow  and  steady,  that  Willie 
was  as  safe  upon  his  back  as  upon  his 
rocking-horse  at  home. 
Willie  was  all  horse,  as  the  saying  is.  When  a 
wee  bit  of  a  baby,  nothing  delighted  him  so  much  as 
a  gallop  on  papa's  foot.  Papa's  shoulder  was  a  pretty 
good  horse,  but  not  as  lively  and  frisky  as  his  foot. 
He  travelled  half  round  the  world  on  that  same  willing 
steed  before  he  was  two  years  old. 

The  gift  of  a  gay  pair  of  worsted  reins  on  his 
second  birthday,  gave  him  more  genuine  pleasure  than 
the  gift  of  hundreds  of  dollars  would  at  a  later  day, 
probably. 

As  Willie  grew  older,  chairs  and  tables  seemed  to 
lose  their  resemblance  to  horses,  or  his  imagination 
was  less  vivid.  Something  was  the  trouble,  for  his 
constant  cry  was, 

"  Willie  wants  horse !  Willie  wants  horse  with 
head — -with  eyes — with  feet!  Willie  wants  horse 
go  fast  —  fast  as  papa's  !  " 

17 


FIRST  RIDE. 


So  papa  and  mamma  considered  the  question. 
The  result  was,  that  the  evening  before  Willie's  third 
birthday,  a  large  package  was  left  at  the  door  by  the 
expressman.  It  was  quietly  placed  in  the  shed  until 
Willie  was  asleep  for  the  night.  And  it  seemed  as 
though  his  eyes  were  never  so  long  closing  before. 

At  last  he  was  snugly  tucked  into  his  little  bed ; 
then  papa  tip-toed  into  the  sitting-room  with  a  beau- 
tiful large  rocking-horse.  He  placed  it,  amid  many 
whispered  comments,  where  Willie  would  see  it  the 
moment  he  entered  the  room  in  the  morning.  Papa, 
mamma,  and  sister  Mina  must  all  be  present  then. 

He  came  down  in  his  little  white  night-dress. 
Stopping  short  at  the  unexpected  sight,  he  rubbed  his 
eyes,  then  ran  and  clasped  the  miniature  horse  about 
the  neck,  crying, 

"Little  horsey!  —  little  horsey!  Willie  hug  you 
hard!" 

Then  he  stepped  back  for  a  better  look.  Putting 
a  fat  finger  into  the  horse's  mouth,  he  said,  "  Him  got 
mouth!  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  On  travelled  his  finger  to 
his  eyes.  "  Him  got  eyes.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

His  four  feet  were  greeted  in  the  same  way.  And 
the  eager  little  fingers  touched  almost  every  inch  of 
his  treasured  horse  before  he  could  be  coaxed  away 
long  enough  to  be  dressed. 

After  dressing  he  must  take  a  ride  to  give  him  an 
appetite.  He  had  not  thought  of  riding  before  — 

18 


FIRST   RIDE. 


mere  possession  was  enough.  But  he  had  a  healthy 
boy's  appetite,  so  it  was  not  necessary  to  coax  him  to 
the  breakfast-table. 

Willie  and  Bobby  —  as  he  called  his  horse  —  now 
became  inseparable  companions.  For  the  first  few 
weeks  he  could  not  bear  separation  even  through  the 
night;  so  Bobby  was  hitched  to  his  crib.  And  many 
times  he  was  found  asleep  with  one  chubby  hand 
clasping  Bobby's  mane. 

It  is  Willie's  fervent  hope  that  Bobby  will  grow  up 
into  a  large  black  horse — he  is  very  partial  to  black 
horses  —  so  that  he  can  use  him  when  he  is  an  old 
man. 

For  this  purpose  he  gives  him  a  generous  supply 
of  grass  and  oats  every  day.  Often  he  brings  in  the 
grass  in  his  little  straw  hat.  He  insists  that  Bobby 
likes  to  eat  it  out  of  his  hat,  better  than  from  any 
basket  in  the  house.  After  eating,  Willie  never  for- 
gets to  water  him.  And  if  water  makes  horses  grow, 
Bobby  ought  to  be  a  large  horse  in  a  few  years. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


MRS.  RAT'S  CHILDREN. 


MRS.  RAT'S  CHILDREN. 

"O  mother,"  said  Silky, 

"  I  saw  in  the  shed 
The  funniest  rat-house 

Without  any  bed." 

"Dear  Mother,"  said  Light-foot, 

"  I  saw  in  the  shed 
A  great  tub  of  snap-corn  — 

But  two  kernels  red." 

"And,  mother,"  said  Bob-tail, 

"  I  saw  in  the  shed 
A  jag  of  molasses  — 

JTwas  higher'n  my  head!" 


MRS.  R*T'R  CHILDREN. 


"Come,  mother!     Come  help  us1 

The  rat-children  cried; 
To  make  mother  aid  them 

They  eagerly  tried. 


"My  darlings,  just  listen," 

Said  wise  Mrs.  Rat. 
"I  know  where  there's  something 

Much  better  than  that." 


"Come  out  to  the  corn-bin; 

There,  safe  as  can  be, 
O'er  meal-bags  and  meal-bags 

You'll  scamper  with  me." 

LAUITE  LORING. 


22 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY. 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY. 

URRYING  to  catch  a  certain  car,  at 
a  certain  corner,  late  one  stormy 
night,  I  was  suddenly  arrested 
by  the  sight  of  a  queer-looking 
bundle  lying  in  a  door-way. 
"  Bless  my  heart,  it's  a  child  ! 

0  John !  I'm  afraid  he's  frozen ! " 

1  exclaimed    to  my  brother,  as 
we  both  bent  over  the  bundle. 

Such  a  little  fellow  as  he  was, 
in  the  big,  ragged  coat;  such  a  tired,  baby  face,  under 
the  fuzzy  cap;  such  a  purple,  little  hand,  still  holding 
fast  a  few  papers;  such  a  pathetic  sight  altogether, 
was  the  boy,  lying  on  the  stone  step,  with  the  snow 
drifting  over  him,  —  that  it  was  impossible  to  go  by. 

"He  is  asleep;  but  he'll  freeze,  if  left  so  long. 
Here,  wake  up,  my  boy;  and  go  home,  as  fast  as  you 
can,"  cried  John,  with  a  gentle  shake,  and  a  very  gen- 
tle voice. 

The  moment  he  was  touched,  the  boy  tumbled  up, 
and,  before  he  was  half  awake,  began  his  usual  cry, 
with  an  eye  to  business. 

"  Paper,  sir  ?    '  H erald ! '  — « Transkip ! '  —  Last " 

23 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY. 


a  great  gape  swallowed  up  the  "last  edition;"  and  he 
stood  blinking  at  us  like  a  very  chilly,  young  owl. 

"  I'll  buy  'em  all,  if  you'll  go  home,  my  little  chap." 

"All  of  'em?  —  why,  there's  six!"  croaked  the  boy, 
for  he  was  as  hoarse  as  a  raven. 

"  Never  mind,  I  can  kindle  the  fire  with  'em." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  I  asked,  picking  up  the  fif- 
ty cents  that  fell  from  the  little  fingers,  too  benumbed 
to  hold  it. 

"  Mills  Court ;  out  of  Hanover." 

"  He  can't  go  all  that  way  in  this  storm,  John." 

"  Of  course,  he  can't ;  we'll  put  him  in  a  car,"  be- 
gan John ;  when  the  boy  wheezed  out,  - 

"No;  I've  got  ter  wait  for  Sam.  He'll  be  along, 
as  soon's  the  theatre's  done.  He  said  he  would;  and 
so  I'm  waitin'." 

"Who  is  Sam?"  I  asked. 

"  He's  the  feller  I  lives  with.  I  ain't  got  any  folks, 
and  he  takes  care  o'  me." 

"  Nice  care,  indeed,"  I  said,  crossly. 

"Hullo!  the  lights  is  out!"  cried  the  boy.  "Why 
the  play's  done,  and  the  folks  gone ;  and  Sam's  forgot 
me." 

It  was  very  evident,  that  Sam  had  forgotten  him, 
and  a  strong  desire  to  shake  Sam  possessed  me. 

"  No  use  waitin'  any  longer;  and  now  my  papers  is 
sold,  I  ain't  afraid  to  go  home,"  said  the  boy. 

"Stop  a  bit,  my  little  Casabianca;  a  car  will  be 
along  in  fifteen  minutes." 

24 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY. 


"My  name's  Jack  Hill,  not  Cassy  Banks,  please, 
sir,"  said  the  little  party,  with  dignity. 

"Have  you  had  your  supper,  Mr.  Hill?"  asked 
John,  laughing. 

"  I  had  some  peanuts,  and  two  sucks  of  Joe's 
orange;  but  it  warn't  very  fillin',"  he  said,  gravely. 

"I  should  think  not.  Here!  —  one  stew;  and  be 
quick,  please,"  cried  John,  as  we  sat  down,  in  a  warm 
corner  of  the  confectioner's,  opposite. 

"There  goes  our  car;  and  it's  the  last,"  said  John, 
looking  at  me. 

"  Let  it  go,  but  don't  leave  the  boy." 

"  Here  is  his  car.  Now,  my  lad,  bolt  your  last 
oyster,  and  come  on." 

"Good-night,  ma'am!  —  Thankee,  sir!"  croaked  the 
grateful,  little  voice,  as  the  child  was  caught  up  in 
John's  strong  hands,  and  set  down  on  the  car-step. 

We  didn't  mind  the  storm  much,  as  we  plodded 
home;  and  when  I  told  the  story  to  Rosy-face,  next 
day,  his  interest  quite  reconciled  me  to  the  sniffs  and 
sneezes  of  a  bad  cold. 

"If  I  saw  that  poor  little  boy,  Aunt  Weedy,  I'd 
love  him  lots ! "  said  Freddy,  with  a  world  of  pity  in 
his  beautiful  child's  eyes. 

L.  M.  ALCOTT. 


DREAMING. 


DREAMING. 

NAUGHTY,  imprudent,  fanciful  Nan, 
Dreaming  as  only  a  dreamer  can, 
Wandering  home  with  reluctant  feet, 
Culling  wild  blossoms  and  berries  sweel, 
Never  once  thinking  the  hour  was  late, 
Fell  fast  asleep  at  the  garden-gate. 

She  dreamed  of  another  garden  fair, 
With  happy  children  disporting  there ; 
Of  trees  and  flowers,  and  bursts  of  song 
Filling  the  air  the  whole  day  long ; 
Of  gorgeous,  golden-winged  butterflies  ; 
Of  summer's  beauty  'neath  summer's  skies. 

Idly  above  in  the  blossoms  swung 
Dainty  birds  with  melodious  tongue ; 
And  round  about  her  the  bees  of  June 
Sleepily  murmured  their  drowsy  tune : 
"  For  ever  and  ever,"  they  seemed  to  say, 
"  Your  life  shall  be  like  this  summer  day." 

The  shadows  of  tender  thought  arise, 
And  weigh  with  slumber  her  heavy  eyes ; 

26 


DREAMING. 


It  weaves  a  tissue  of  hopes  and  dreams 
With  misty  glories  and  rainbow  gleams  : 
Too  brief  the  moment  she  seemed  to  stand 
In  that  beautiful,  blissful,  fairy  land. 

Poor  little  Nan  !     What  an  idle  dream  ! 
And  the  world  will  only  the  darker  seem, 
When  you  wake,  and  find  yourself  alone 
By  the  garden-gate,  on  a  mossy  stone, 
Wasting  the  whole  of  your  summer  day : 
You  might  far  better  have  been  at  play. 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

•OTHER,  I  want  to  have  a  real  good 
Fourth  this  year.  Will  you  grant  me 
a  favor?" 

"Don't  you  always  have  a  'good 
Fourth'?  I  thought  you  enjoyed  the 
last  very  much." 

"O,  yes,  I  remember;  but  I  want  some- 
thing different  this  year." 

"Something  besides  pleasure?" 
"Yes,  independence." 
"Well?" 

"  Let  me  do  just  as  I  please  all  day,  without  speak- 
ing to  you  about  it  at  all." 

Mrs.  Wilton  sewed  a  few  minutes,  then  said, 
"Yes,  Joe;  I  will  trust  you." 

Joe  thanked  her  with  a  little  loss  of  animation; 
for  he  felt  put  on  his  honor  by  the  form  of  the  per- 
mission. 

,   "  Can  Bess  be  included  in  the  general  amnesty  too  ?  " 
"If  you  can  remember  that  she  is  younger  than 
yourself,  and  must  not  be  led  into  any  harm." 

Joe  and  Bess  were  busy  all  day  —  down  by  the 
shore,  in  the  shed,  in  the  kitchen,  and  up  stairs,  hardly 
willing  to  stop  for  dinner,  which  they  swallowed  with 

29 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


haste.  Joe's  work  went  on  into  the  evening  ;  but  Mrs. 
Wilton  insisted  that  Bess  should  go  to  bed  at  the 
usual  hour,  maintaining  that  she  did  not  relinquish 
her  authority  until  the  morning. 

At  daylight  the  next  day  there  was  a  stir  about 
the  house,  and  as  the  sun  gave  the  first  glance  over 


the  tops  of  the  trees,  a  pack  of  fire-crackers  and  a 
small  cannon  went  off  simultaneously  under  Mrs. 
Wilton's  windows.  She  sprang  up,  and  looked  out 
in  time  to  see  Joe  fire  two  salutes  in  a  similar  manner 

"What  are  you  doing,  my  son?" 

"Celebrating  my  liberty." 

30 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


"  But  you  infringe  mine  when  you  make  such  a 
noise;  for  I  can't  sleep." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  disturbed  you,  madam,"  replied  Joe, 
touching  his  hat;  "but  I  hope  the  mother  country  is 
not  going  to  come  down  on  the  colonies  now." 

Mrs.  Wilton  laughed,  and  said,— 

"  No  more  than  to  eat  my  breakfast,  my  young 
republican." 

After  breakfast,  Mrs.  Wilton  bade  the  children 
good  bye,  and  drove  away  to  Aunt  Mary's. 

"  Now,  Bess,  load  up,  and  we're  off,"  said  Joe, 
gathering  up  the  baskets  and  traps  of  all  kinds,  and 
hurrying  down  to  his  boat. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  any  one  else?" 

"  No;  I'll  ship  no  other  crew." 

"Can't  I  take  Trip?     He  wants  to  go." 

"Well,  he  might  be  booked  as  a  passenger.  Now 
jump  in,  Bess,  and  we'll  go  to  Ray's  Island  and  take 
dinner,  and  then  explore  Sucker's  Point.  What  do 
you  say?" 

"  Good,"  said  Bess,  taking  of  her  hat,  and  trailing 
her  hands'  in  the  water. 

"I  say,  Bess,  what's  Trip  doing?"  Bess  seized 
Trip  by  the  tail,  and  drew  his  head,  with  a  doughnut 
in  his  mouth,  out  of  a  basket.  "  I  won't  have  such  a 
passenger;  I'll  put  him  overboard." 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Bess.     "  Naughty  Trip !  " 

"  Then  you  must  take  care  of  him  ;  you're  steward." 

31 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


When  they  reached  the  island,  the  planting  of  the 
American  flag  and  firing  of  salutes,  occupied  the  time 
until  dinner.  Then  rowing  across  the  lake,  they  spent 
the  afternoon  running  about  the  point.  Trip  enjoyed 
this  amazingly,  and  Joe  discovered  untold  caves  and 
mysteries ;  but  Bess  got  tired,  scratched  her  arm,  and 
lost  her  hat. 

After  returning  to  the  island,  Bess  asked, 

"Are  you  not  going  home  ?  " 

"Not  until  evening.  I  have  some  Roman  candles 
and  a  wheel  that  I  am  going  to  set  off." 

"  But  mother  likes  to  have  us  home  before  dark." 

"She  said  I  might  do  as  I  pleased." 

"Then  we'll  be  on  the  lake  in  the  night.  Wouldn't 
it  be  splendid  to  let  off  the  fireworks  in  the  boat  ?  " 

"We'll  do  that,"  said  Joe,  "and  I'll  make  a  fire  on 
the  shore." 

The  fire  was  made,  supper  eaten,  and  preparations 
for  the  fireworks  begun,  when  Bess  noticed  that  the 
waves  began  to  run  high. 

"  It's  going  to  storm,  Joe." 

"  I  think  not :  the  sun  set  clear.  Leave  &11  to  me  : 
I'll  take  care  of  things." 

When  they  went  out  the  boat  was  pretty  well 
tossed,  and  Joe,  being  in  haste,  let  off  some  of  his  can- 
dles before  it  was  fairly  dark.  The  wind  had  risen, 
and  the  sky  had  an  ominous  darkness,  which  did  not 
suggest  a  clear  night. 

32 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


"  I  think  we'll  put  in,  get  our  traps,  and  start  for 
home,"  said  Joe,  suddenly  rowing  swiftly.  His  haste 
had  come  none  too  soon  ;  for  they  had  hardly  reached 
the  shore,  when  a  storm  burst  upon  them.  "  Get  un- 
der that  projecting  rock,"  he  cried,  while  he  did  his 
utmost  to  land  and  secure  the  boat. 

But  Bess  came  to  his  assistance,  and  in  the  midst 
of  great  struggles,  with  the  rain  and  wind  beating  on 
them,  she  fell  over  into  the  water.  Joe  stooped  to  help 
her,  and  a  large  wave  swept  his  boat  away.  Drenched 
in  the  rain,  they  ran  to  the  rock  for  shelter. 

"We  are  shipwrecked,"  said  Bess. 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Joe,  drawing  her  close  to 
him ;  "  it's  quite  dry  in  here." 

There  was  space  for  Bess  to  sit  down,  and  Trip 
whimpered  so,  that  Joe  advised  her  to  take  him  in  her 
arms.  "  He'll  keep  you  warm,  too." 

They  were  now  out  of  the  reach  of  the  rain  and 
wind,  and  the  storm  had  settled  into  a  steady  rain. 
Joe  told  stories,  sang  songs  —  anything  to  keep  up 
Bess's  spirits;  and  so  they  waited.  The  hours,  which 
seemed  years,  rolled  on,  and  Bess  went  to  sleep  ;  but 
Joe's  mind  was  too  busy.  He  watched  the  stars  twin- 
kle out,  and  in  the  strangeness  and  awe  of  his  position, 
did  not  sleep  until  nearly  day. 

The  first  ray  of  light  waked  Bess,  and  as  she 
stretched  her  stiff  legs,  she  tried  to  think  where  she 
was.  The  events  of  the  night  flashed  across  her  mind, 

33 


JOE'S  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 


and  jumping  up,  she  looked  at  the  lake.  The  water 
was  smooth  and  clear,  and  the  opposite  shore  did  not 
look  so  very  far.  Trip  woke  Joe  with  his  antics  of 
delight,  and  the  children  began  to  consider. 

"  Everybody  else  in  the  world  is  asleep,"  said  Bess. 

So  they  tried  to  while  away  the  time.  The  sun 
rose,  and  day  was  fairly  begun ;  but  no  hope  of  escape. 
Joe  felt  uneasy,  and  Bess  gave  gulps,  which  indicated 
a  desire  to,  and  a  determination  not  to,  cry.  There 
was  no  use  disguising  it;  they  were  miserable,  and  sat 
on  the  rocks  together,  watching  the  shore. 

"There's  a  boat,"  cried  Joe,  at  last,  taking  off  his 
coat,  and  waving  it  distractedly. 

As  it  drew  nearer,  they  saw  uncle  George. 

"Well,  Joe,  what  are  you  up  to  now?  Your  moth- 
er is  nearly  crazy  with  anxiety." 

"I  couldn't  help  it;  the  boat  was  blown  away." 

"  It's  lucky  you  were  not  blown  away  in  it.  We 
haven't  had  such  a  storm  this  year." 

Joe  was  very  silent,  and  after  they  had  been  re- 
ceived at  home,  breakfasted,  and  made  comfortable,  he 
said,— 

"  Mother,  I  think  we'll  put  ourselves  under  your 
protection  a  little  longer,  for  we  had  to  get  the  home 
government  to  help  us  out  of  our  trouble." 

"You're  welcome  back,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  patting 
his  shoulder. 

SARA  CONANT. 

34 


MAKE  A  GLAD  NOISE  TO  THE  LORD,  m 


"Oceme,  let  us  sing-unto  the  Lord:  let  us  make  a  joyful 
rise  to  the  rock  of  our  salvation,'' — Psalm  xcv.,  i. 

MAKE  a  glad  noise  to  the  Lord! 
Ye  grand  majestic  winds  that  sweep 
On  wings  of  storm,  o'er  land  and  deep, 

Make  a  loud  noise  to  the  Lord! 
Ye  gentler  winds  that  faintly  blow, 
In  murmuring  music  hushed  and  low; 

O!  breathe  your  zephyrs.'soft  and  sweet; 
Waft  all  your  incense-laden  gales, 
O'er  upland  steeps  and  dev/y  vales, 

And  all  about  the  mountain's  feet. 

Make  a  glad  noise  to  the  Lord! 

Ye  awful  thunders  of  the  sky,      • 

Lift  your  dread  voice  to  God  most  high! 
Peal  forth  his  solemn  praise. 

Wake,  echoes  of  the  leafy  wood; 

Sing  a  loud  song:  "  Jehovah  is  Lord!  " 
Let  the  trees  of  the  wood  make  a  noise, 

Let  the  trees  chant  a  psalm  to  the  Lord. 


The  unfading  cedars  and  the  tall  dark  pines, 
Sharon's  sweet  roses,  and  the  clinging  vines; 
From  your  high  boughs  and  through  your  leaf- 
age fine, 

By  all  the  beauty  of  your  verdant  bloom, 
By  all  the  riches  of  your  sweet  perfume, 
Sing  to  the  Lord  your  Maker,  all  Divine! 
Make  a  glad  noise  to  the  Lord! 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECS. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECS. 

•ELL,  I  think  that  is  polite!  Grandma  ex- 
pects me  to  sit  still  while  she  takes 
a  nap  instead  of  telling  me  stories. 
'How  selfish  some  people  are." 

As  she  spoke,  little  Patty  looked 
angrily  from  the  old  lady  nodding  in 
her  chair,  to  the  book  in  her  lap,  and 
felt  very  much  injured  because  she 
couldn't  have  her  own  way.  The  rain  pattered  on  the 
window-pane,  the  wind  blew  dismally,  and  the  winter 
afternoon  was  fast  deepening  into  twilight.  As  she 
sat  thinking  about  her  wrongs,  her  eye  wandered  to 
the  book  again. 

"Stupid  old  pictures,  I've  seen  'em  a  dozen  times, 
and  am  tired  of  'em.  But  there  is  no  other  book  here, 
and  I  mustn't  leave  the  room.  I  wonder  how  they'd 
look  through  grandma's  specs." 

Putting  the  glasses  on  her  little  nose,  Patty  turned 
a  leaf  and  looked.  Dear  me,  how  very  odd  it  was  to 
be  sure!  A  minute  ago  she  saw  a  cat  and  kittens  on 
the  page,  and  now  there  was  a  picture  she  had  never 
seen.  A  sweet,  pale-faced  lady  lay  in  a  bed  and  was 
putting  a  little  baby  into  the  arms  of  an  old  lady  who 
seemed  promising  something  with  a  tender  yet  sor- 
rowful look. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECS. 


"Why  that's  the  way  my  dear  mamma  did  when 
she  gave  me  to  grandma,  the  day  she  died !  Papa 
told  me  about  it,"  cried  Patty,  very  much  surprised. 
Wondering  what  had  come  to  her  book,  she  eagerly 
turned  over  another  leaf,  and  there  was  a  new  picture. 

This  was  a  still  more  curious  one,  for  the  figures 
seemed  to  move.  The  same  old  lady  was  teaching 
the  same  baby  to  walk,  so  kindly,  so  patiently. 


Next  came  pictures  showing  the  baby  a  little  girl, 
and  the  old  lady  still  older,  but  as  kind  as  ever.  Judg- 
ing from  the  pictures,  the  child  was  rather  a  careless, 
selfish  little  girl.  One  was  where  the  child  appeared 
to  be  nearly  run  over,  and  the  old  lady  saved  her,  but 

37 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECS. 


was  much  hurt  herself.  When  Patty  saw  that,  she 
looked  very  sober,  and  the  pettish  expression  left  her 
face,  as  she  said,  softly,— 

"Yes,  that's  what  grandma  did  for  me;  and  that's 
how  she  got  so  lame.  Poor  grandma,  I  wish  I'd  got 
her  cane  for  her  when  she  asked  me." 

Patty's  eyes  grew  so  dim  with  tears  that  the  page 
was  all  a  blur,  and,  putting  up  her  hand  to  wipe  the 
drops  away,  the  spectacles  fell  off  and  the  strange  pic- 
tures vanished. 

Patty  sat  quite  still  for  several  minutes,  thinking 
of  all  the  unkind  words  she  had  said,  the  duties  she 
had  neglected,  the  loving  acts  she  had  left  undone, 
and  all  she  owed  dear,  kind,  patient,  grandma.  She 
covered  up  her  face  and  cried  till  her  little  handker- 
chief was  quite  wet,  so  full  of  repentant  sorrow  was 
she.  Suddenly  she  thought,  "  It  is'nt  too  late.  I  can 
be  good  to  her  now.  What  shall  I  do  to  show  her 
how  sorry  I  am?" 

Wiping  up  her  tears  she  looked  about  the  room 
and  saw  plenty  to  do. 

"  How  naughty  I  am  to  be  so  lazy  and  selfish,  and 
disobedient.  Dear  grandma  is  too  kind  to  punish  me,, 
but  I  ought  to  be  punished,  hard"  said  Patty. 

Full  of  good  resolutions  she  fell  to  work  and  turned 
over  a  new  leaf  at  once,  not  waiting  a  minute  or  saying 
"  I'll  be  good  by  and  by."  She  cleaned  up  her  play- 
things, found  the  cane  and  leaned  it  against  grandma's 

38 


GRANDMOTHER'S  SPECS. 


chair  all  ready  for  her.  She  put  back  the  spectacles, 
picked  up  the  stitches  and  laid  the  knitting  on  the  old 
lady's  lap;  she  folded  the  shawl  softly  round  her,  and 
grandma  gave  a  little  sigh  as  if  the  comfortable 
warmth  pleased  her.  Then  Patty  built  up  a  grand  fire, 
swept  the  hearth,  and  sat  down  to  wind  the  yarn. 

Darker  and  darker  it  grew  outside  as  night  came 
on ;  harder  blew  the  wind  and  faster  fell  the  rain,  but 
within  it  was  bright  and  warm.  Very  thoughtful  was 
Patty's  rosy  face  as  she  sat  so  still ;  but  that  half  hour 
did  her  much  good,  for  she  thought  what  she  was,  and 
what  she  hoped  to  be,  and  prayed  a  very  sincere  little 
prayer  that  she  might  keep  her  resolution,  and  be  a 
faithful,  loving  child  to  grandma. 

When  the  old  lady  woke,  she  rubbed  her  eyes  and 
looked  about  her,  feeling  as  if  the  good  fairies  had 
been  at  work  while  she  slept.  And  so  they  had,  for 
the  best  and  loveliest  of  household  fairies  are  Love 
and  Cheerfulness.  Patty  had  drawn  up  the  round  ta- 
ble and  quietly  set  out  the  little  tea  tray  with  the  tiny 
cups  and  plates,  the  old-fashioned  spoons  and  funny 
plump  teapot  that  grandma  liked;  had  toasted  the 
bread  herself,  just  brown  and  nice,  and  got  everything 
ready  in  the  most  cosey,  tempting  order  one  can 
imagine. 

"Well,  deary,  what  does  it  all  mean?"  cried  grand- 
ma, smiling  with  surprise  and  pleasure,  as  she  looked 
about  her. 

39 


NED'S  TEAM. 


"  It  means  that  I'm  trying  to  be  good,  and  do  my 
duty  as  I  haven't  done  it  for  a  long,  long  while;"  and 
Patty  put  her  arms  round  grandma's  neck  with  a  little 
quiver  in  her  voice  that  went  straight  to  the  old  lady's 
heart.  Standing  so,  she  told  all  that  had  happened, 
and  grandma  laughed  and  said  it  was  only  a  dream. 
But  Patty  was  sure  it  was  true,  only  the  spectacles 
wouldn't  show  any  more  of  the  strange  pictures  when 
she  tried  again. 

"  Never  mind,  my  darling,  they  show  me  the  dear- 
est, most  dutiful  of  little  daughters,  and  I'm  quite 
satisfied,"  said  grandma. 

L.  M.  ALCOTT. 


NED'S  TEAM. 

ED,  this  seems  the  only  way.  I'm 
as  sorry  as  you  can  be,  for  I  in- 
tended you  to  have  a  good  educa- 
tion; and  this  will  put  you  back." 
"Nevermind,  father.  I'm  not 
very  old  yet.  I'll  haul  the  wood 
and  study,  too." 

Ned  Marston  looked  cheerfully 
into  his  father's  pale  face  as  he  said 
this.     If  his  father  had  not  been  suffer- 
ing from  bodily  pain,  he  would  have  seen 
something  about  the  frank,  boyish  face,  how- 
ever, which  indicated  mental  pain.     But  the 

40 


NED'S  TEAM. 


wood,  as  well  as  his  infirmities,  weighed  heavily  on 
Mr.  Marston's  mind. 

Turning,  as  well  as  his  aching  limbs  would  permit, 
he  looked  from  the  window,  then  said,  "  Seems  like  a 
pleasant  day  out.  Can't  you  hitch  up  the  horses  and 
begin  now?" 

"Yes,  father,  if  you  think  best." 

"Well,  I  guess  'tis.     'Twill  be  a  long  job  anyway." 

Ned  went  directly  to  the  barn;  but  instead  of  tak- 
ing out  the  horses  at  once,  he  sat  down  on  the  sled  and 
drew  a  long,  hard  breath.  A  great  cloud  of  despair 
seemed  suddenly  to  overshadow  him.  The  light  was 
all  gone  from  his  face. 

" Father  thinks  he's  as  sorry  as  I  am ;  but  he  cant 
be,"  was  his  thought.  And  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to 
the  contrary,  two  large  tears  rolled  down  his  face.  "  I 
meant  to  keep  at  the  head  of  the  class  and  graduate 
next  spring  —  instead  —  hauling  wood!  I  can't  do  it 
—  can't  give  up  all  my  pet  plans!" 

Ned  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Thoughts 
of  his  father's  kindness  in  the  past  —  of  his  mother's 
love  and  patience — of  his  darling  baby  sister,  passed 
rapidly  through  his  mind.  It  was  his  duty  to  haul 
the  wood.  He  felt  as  sure  of  it,  as  of  the  reluctant, 
selfish  spirit  which  prompted  him  to  refuse.  If  his 
duty  to  do  it  at  all — then  do  it  cheerfully.  Should 
he  add  to  his  mother's  cares  and  burdens  ?  Never ! 

"  God  will  see  to  my  education,  if  I  see  to  the  wood,- 

41 


NED'S  TEAM. 


mother'd  say;  and  —  well,  I  know  she's  right,  though 
I  can't  talk  about  such  things.  I  declare,  I'd  like  to 
cry  it  out,  as  girls  do.  But  if  I  stop  for  that,  father'll 
begin  to  wonder  what  the  trouble  is;  so  good-by  to 
books  and  tears  for  the  present. 

"  Now  for  the  wood !  But,  mind  you,  Graytop,  and 
you,  old  Duke,  I  sha'n't  have  you  for  companions 
always.  Step  round  lively !  I  mean  work  now  —  and 
I  mean  study  by  and  by!' 

Ned  was  not  a  boy  to  do  things  by  halves.  He 
resolved  that  no  one,  not  even  his  mother  should  sus- 
pect what  a  trial  it  was  to  him ;  so,  day  after  day,  he 
walked  manfully  by  the  side  of  his  team,  whistling  as 
he  went,  or  exchanging  pleasant  greetings  with  the 
other  teamsters.  The  evening  always  found  him  with 
his  beloved  books. 

Ned  could  not  load  the  heaviest  logs  himself;  but 
some  of  the  men  were  always  ready  to  help.  They 
admired  his  courage  and  cheerful  spirits,  and  rather 
prided  themselves  on  the  good  looks  of  Ned  and  his 
team.  No  horses  were  kept  in  better  condition 
through  the  winter  than  Ned's. 

One  day  in  February,  Ned  reached  the  mill  just  as 
two  strangers  stepped  from  their  sleigh.  He  attended 
to  his  work  as  usual,  not  noticing  that  one  of  the  men 
was  watching  him  closely. 

"So  you  like  hauling  wood  better  than  studying?'1 

Ned  started  as  these  words  sounded  abruptly  in 


NED'S  TEAM. 


his  ears.    "  No,  sir;  I'd  a  thousand  times  rather  study," 
he  replied. 

"Why  don't  you  then?  " 

"  Because  this  wood  had  to  be  hauled,  and  father 
was  sick  and  couldn't  do  it." 

"He  isn't  too  sick  to  sell  the  boards,  is  he?" 

"  No,  sir.     He'd  be  glad  to." 

The  long  and  short  of  it  was  —  the  man  not  only 
bought  the  boards,  but  paid  such  a  price  —  cash  down 
—  that  Mr.  Marston  was  able  to  hire  a  man  to  take 
Ned's  place  and  finish  the  job. 

Ned  had  improved  his  evenings  so  well,  that  a 
little  extra  help  from  his  teacher  for  a  few  weeks,  en- 
abled him  to  graduate  with  his  class  in  the  spring. 
And  not  one  left  the  school-room  with  such  honor  and 
such  robust  health  as  Ned  Marston. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


44 


CARRY'S  TROUBLES. 


CARRY'S  TROUBLES. 

DEMURE  little  Carry,  eleven  to-day, 
Has  a  world  of  annoyances,  truly, 
Assuming  the  charge,  in  a  sisterly  way, 
Of  venturesome  Kitty,  and  mischievous  May, 
And  bold  Master  Bob,  the  unruly. 


CARRY'S   TROUBLES. 


Of  course  there  is  nurse  to  decide  what  is  best 

In  cases  of  reckless  resistance ; 
But  if  nurse  is  the  captain,  it  must  be  confessed 
That  Carry  affords,  with  unwearying  zest, 

A  corporal's  watchful  assistance. 

When  Kitty  was  found  up  the  pear  tree,  last  week, 

With  skirts  in  the  branches  entangled, 
How  long,  without  Carry's  most  opportune  shriek, 
Beholding  the  sister  she  wandered  to  seek, 
Would  Kitty,  head  downward,  have  dangled  ? 

And  May,  fairy  May,  with  her  curls'  glossy  gold, 

And  the  brown  eyes  glimmering  under, 
Were  it  not  for  the  hand-clasp,  so  firm  to  hold, 
From  her  restless  gypsyings  manifold, 
Would  she  come  back  as  safe,  I  wonder? 

And  Bob  —  what  so  hazardous  he  would  not  dare, 

All  peril  disdaining  sublimely, 
If  somehow  a  hand  were  not  always  just  there, 
Intent  upon  saving  "  papa's  son  and  heir," 

In  time,  from  an  end  most  untimely? 

Poor  Carry  laments,  now  and  then,  that  her  days 

Are  troubled  —  with  good  reason,  truly! 
And  yet  how  the  love  of  those  dear  ones  repays 
All  Kitty's  mad  pranks,  and  all  mischief  of  May's, 
All  capers  of  Bob,  the  unruly! 

EDGAR  FAWCETT. 

46 


THE     SQUINT-EYED     PARTY. 


THE   SQUINT-EYED   PARTY. 

ONE  day,  when  George  was  playing  near  the  gate  of 
the  lawn,  he  heard  a  boy  going  from  school  cry  out  to 
another,  "  No,  squint-eye,  you  sha'n't  go  to  our  party ;  " 
and  he  saw  poor  homely  Tim  Dunn,  with  his  crooked 
eyes  and  freckled  face,  crying  and  sobbing. 

He  put  his  little  white  hand  through  the  rails  of 
the  fence,  and  said,  "  Here,  little  boy :  you  may  have  my 
new  whistle.  Don't  cry  any  more." 

Then  he  ran  into  the  house,  and  asked,  "  Can't  I 
have  a  squint-eyed  party  on  the  lawn,  mamma,  so  as  to 
Vite  that  poor  speckled  boy  ?  " 

Of  course  his  mamma  laughed,  and  she  said,  "  O 
George,  dearl  you  are  very  kind;  but  I  don't  think 
there  is  any  other  squint-eyed  boy  round  here  but  little 
Tim." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma !  you  forget.  There  is  lame  Sam 
with  such  a  thick  sole  on  his  shoe,  and  the  boy  that 
had  his  hand  cut  off  in  the  hay-cutter,  and  " 

"  But  they  are  not  squint-eyed,  George,"  said  his 
mother. 

"Well,  but  it's  in  their  feet  and  hand,  and  that's 
just  as  bad,  isn't  it,  mamma?"  asked  the  dear  child. 

George's  brother  was  ten  years  old,  and  thought  he 
knew  a  great  deal  more  than  this  little  fellow.  "  Ha, 

47 


NELLY'S     FAULT. 


ha !     George  thinks  Sam  is  squint-eyed  in  his  foot,  and 
little  Tom  is  in  his  hand." 

But  the  mother  said,  "  1  know  what  George  means. 
He  pities  such  boys,  and  wants  to  make  them  happy. 
He  shall  have  the  tent  pitched  on  the  lawn,  and  have 
the  poor  boys  here ;  an4  I  will  help  him  to  make  them 
happy.  His  party  will  be  like  the  one  we  read  of  in 
the  Bible,  to  which  the  halt  and  the  maimed  and  the 
blind  were  invited.  —  Go,  William,  pitch  the  tent,  and 
then  ask  these  boys  to  George's  party." 


NELLY'S   FAULT. 

"  I  WONDER  who  wants  to  knit  me  some  nice  warm 
mittens,"  said  grandma  one  day. 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  do  1 "  cried  Nelly,  clapping  her  hands, 
and  di^ppiag  i  lapful  of  flowers. 

"These  little  '  I  do's  '  put  me  in  mind  of  the  wee 
fairies,"  said  grandma,  smiling :  "  they  dance  about  finely 
in  the  sunshine,  but  they  melt  away  if  you  look  at  them 
with  your  spectacles  on." 

Nelly  blushed,  and  hung  her  head ;  for  she  knew  as 
well  as  grandmamma  how  her  little  promises  were  apt 
to  melt  away,  and  be  forgotten  :  she  knew  well  how 
many  things  she  had  begun  which  were  still  unfinished, 
and  how  often  she  played  or  read  story-books  when 


NELLY'S)    FAULT. 


she  had  work  to  do.  Grandma  was  sorry  for  this 
naughty  habit,  and  was  t.ying  to  help  Nelly  over- 
come it. 

"Why,  grandma,"  said t  Bob,  "this  is  flower- time : 
nobody  wants  mittens  in  Slimmer." 

"  It  is  the  wise  little  an  is,"  said  grandma,  "  who  lay 
up  a  store  for  the  winter.  You  may  be  a  butterfly,  my 
dear."  j 

"  Mayn't  I  make  your  fnittens  ?  "  asked  Nelly,  laying 
her  little  soft  cheek  against  grandma's.  "  I  promise 
sure  not  to  get  tired,  ana  I  knit  most  as  well  as  you  do 
now." 

"  So  you  do,  dear/'  said  grandma.  "  Well,  I  have 
some  pretty  gray  and  red  yarn  :  if  the  little  one  would 
like  to  make  me  some  mittens  to  keep  my  old  hands 
warm  on  Thanksgiving  Day,  I  shall  be  very  glad." 

That  was  all  Nelly  heard ;  but,  after  she  had  gone 
off  with  her  flowers,  grandma  said  to  Nelly's  mamma, — 

"  I  shall  be  so  glad  if  Nelly  can  learn  to  be  faithful 
in  these  little  things  1  I  think,  if  she  has  my  mittens 
done  by  Thanksgiving,  I  must  give  her  a  fine  new 
sled." 

Now,  this  was  what  Nelly  had  longed  and  wished 
for  more  than  any  thing  else :  so  her  mamma  cried  out 
gladly,— 

"  Oh !  I  will  tell  her  at  once,  and  she  will  be  sure  to 
have  them  done." 

"  No,  no,  you  must  not  do  that,  my  dear,"  said  the 

50 


NELLY'S     FAULT. 


kind  old  grandma.  "  I  want  to  cure  her  of  this  bad 
habit ;  but  she  must  finish  them  from  love  of  me,  not 
for  a  reward." 

Nelly  began  the  mittens  the  very  next  day ;  and  she 
worked  right  well  for  a  time.  The  gray  yarn  was  very 
pretty ;  but  she  wanted  so  much  to  get  to  the  red  stripes 
at  the  wrist  1  But,  when  one  mitten  was  finished,  the 
other  began  to  drag.  Some  days,  if  you  will  believe  it, 
she  would  only  knit  a  dozen  stitches  before  she  became 
very  tired.  Then  her  mamma  would  say  gently,  — 

""Nelly  dear,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  make  more 
haste  with  grandma's  mittens,  or  her  hands  will  be  cold 
Thanksgiving  Day." 

Then  perhaps  for  a  day  or  two  the  little  girl  would 
be  quite  industrious,  and  it  would  really  seem  as  though 
the  mittens  might  be  finished,  after  all ;  but  Thanks- 
giving was  drawing  near,  and  the  last  one  grew  slowly. 

There  was  a  grand  snow-storm  one  week  before 
Thanksgiving,  and  Nelly  had  a  great  deal  of  sliding 
and  snow-balling  to  attend  to  ;  besides,  the  thought  of 
the  Thanksgiving  party  at  grandma's  made  it  hard  to 
sit  down  quietly  at  any  thing. 

However,  on  the  day  before  Thanksgiving  the  mit- 
ten was  almost  finished ;  and  when  mamma  went  out 
in  the  afternoon  she  said  to  Nelly,  — 

"  My  dear,  if  you  keep  very  busy,  you  can  easily  get 
through,  and  grandma  will  be  so  glad  I  " 

Mamma  smiled ;  for  she  knew  that  this  very  after- 
Si 


NELLY'S     FAULT. 


noon  grandma  was  going  to  buy  the  prettiest  sled  she 
could  find  for  little  Nelly. 

So  Nelly  began  to  knit,  singing  all  the  while  to 
herself ;  and  for  full  fifteen  minutes  she  never  stopped 
once.  But  then  —  it  was  such  a  pity!  —  uncle  Joe 
had  given  her  a  new  book  only  the  day  before,  with 
wonderful  stories  in  it  of  Cinderella  and  Bluebeard 
and  Red  Riding-Hood ;  and  Nelly  had  been  so  foolish 
as  to  lay  the  book  right  on  the  sofa,  where  she  could 
see  it  as  she  worked. 

She  wouldn't  open  it  once ;  oh,  no  !  But  presently 
she  did  want  so  much  to  see  what  the  first  story  was 
about;  and  then  —  presto!  before  you  could  say  "Jack 
Robinson,"  she  had  forgotten  all  about  grandma  and 
the  mittens.  When  mamma  came  home,  she  was  sit- 
ting on  the  floor,  sobbing  over  Little  Red  Riding-Hood 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Well,  what  do  you  think  came  next  ?  Nelly  was 
very  sorry :  but  the  mitten  was  tucked  away  in  a 
drawer;  and  the  next  morning  she  had  almost  forgotten 
it,  in  her  joy  at  going  to  grandma's. 

There  were  a  great  many  uncles  and  aunts  and 
cousins  at  grandma's  before  Nelly  arrived ;  and  they 
were  all  sitting  around  in  the  parlor,  waiting  for  the 
church-bell  to  ring.  There  was  so  much  kissing  and 
hugging,  that  it  would  almost  take  your  breath  away  to 
speak  of  it.  Grandma  was  sitting  in  her  great  easy- 
chair  ;  and,  when  Nelly  went  up  to  kiss  her,  she  held 

52. 


NELLY'S     FAULT. 


the  little  girl's  hand  tight  in  hers,  and  said  aloud,  so 
that  everybody  could  hear,  — 

"  My  dear  little  Nelly  has  been  making  me  a  beau- 
tiful pair  of  mittens  to  wear  to  church  to-day,  and  I  am 
very  much  pleased.  I  am  going  to  surprise  her  with 
something  that  I  know  will  make  her  very  happy.  I 
am  glad  the  snow  came  in  time." 

Grandma  looked  behind  the  chair,  and  drew  out  a 
sled,  which  was  so  pretty  that  all  the  children  raised  a 
shout  of  joy. 

Only  Nelly  hung  her  head,  and  the  tears  began  to 
roll  down  her  soft  little  cheeks. 

"  There  is  my  gift  for  Nelly,  and  here  is  Nelly's  gift 
for  me,"  said  the  dear  old  lady.  And,  what  do  you 
think?  she  held  up  a  pair  of  mittens  just  like  Nelly 'si 

Nelly  looked  in  wonder.  Could  some  beautiful 
angel  have  come  down  and  finished  them  while  she 
was  asleep?  A  naughty  little  thought  told  Nelly  to 
keep  still,  and  not  say  a  word  about  it :  grandma  would 
never  know. 

"  I  won't  keep  still,  now,  so  !  "  said  Nelly  to  herself. 

And  she  said,  looking  right  in  grandma's  eyes, 
"  You  hadn't  better  give  me  that  sled,  grandma.  I  did 
mean  to  be  goody,  and  uncle  Joe  hadn't  oughter  given 
me  any  story-book.  I  didn't  just  quite  finish  that  last 
mitten;  and  oh!  grandma,  couldn't  I  try* just  once 
more?"  She  threw  herself  sobbing  and  crying  into 
grandma's  arms. 

53 


PUSSY     AND     I. 


Don't  you  believe  grandma  wanted  to  give  her  the 
sled  just  there  on  the  spot  ?  Of  course  she  did. 

Uncle  Joe  stepped  up,  with  a  funny  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  said,  if  it  was  any  fault  of  his,  he  was  willing 
to  be  punished.  He  would  take  the  children  all  riding 
on  the  new  sled  after  church,  and  then  Nelly  should 
not  see  it  again  for  two  whole  weeks. 

"  Very  well,"  said  grandma. 

Did  mamma  finish  the  mittens  ?  Oh,  dear,  no  1 
Mamma  was  too  wise.  Who,  then  ?  grandma  ?  No, 
indeed  1 

Why,  Nelly's  older  sister,  who  didn't  know  about 
the  sled,  but  felt  sorry  for  the  dear  little  lazy  Nelly, 
and  took  them  to  grandma  herself. 


PUSSY    AND    I. 

LITTLE  pussy  whitey  toes, 

You  funny,  wee,  wee  cat, 
I  guess  I  know,  and  grandpa  knows, 

Who  slept  in  his  new  hat. 

Oh  you  cunning  little  pet ! 
Dear  grandpa  cannot  tell 

54 


POOR     JACK. 


Who  crushed  his  bed  of  mignonette, 
Or  how  the  cactus  fell. 

Nursie  says,  "You  careless  girl, 

To  break  the  china  vase! 
You  left  my  work-box  in  a  whirl, 

And  tore  my  pretty  lace/' 

All  my  pennies  from  both  banks 

I  paid  her  for  the  loss. 
Ah,  kit!  your  merry,  roguish  pranks 

Make  nursie  look  so  cross ! 

Oh  you  fatty,  puffy  ball ! 

I  have  to  bear  the  blame  : 
They  don't  suspect  you,  you're  so  small, 

Now,  is  it  not  a  shame? 


POOR   JACK. 

HE  stood  looking  into  the  window  of  a  corner 
bakery,  —  only  a  poor,  ragged  boy,  with  his  face  un- 
washed, and  rough,  coarse  hair  falling  over  it.  He  was 
so  dirty,  that  I  think  von  would  have  drawn  your 


POOR     JACK. 


dainty  little  silk  dress  away  for  fear  of  touching  him. 
Maybe  you  would  have  wondered  how  such  a  dirty  boy 
could  bear  to  be  out  on  the  street. 

But,  oh !  how  hungry  he  was !  —  had  had  only  one 
poor,  dry  crust  all  yesterday,  and  that  he  picked  out  of 
a  barrel.  Didnt  he  wish  some  one  would  let  him 
shovel  a  sidewalk, 
or  chop  a  little 
wood,  if  they  only 
gave  him  a  loaf 
of  bread  in  re- 
turn !  For  his 
two  little  sisters 
were  so  hungry! 
He  guessed  they 
would  die,  most 
likely,  unless  the 
mission  people 
came  to  help 
them.  How  he 
loved  them  too! 

Mother  told 
him  to  take  care 
of  them :  yes,  so  she  did.  But  what  could  a  fellow 
do  out  in  the  big  world,  and  everybody  going  by  as  it 
they  didn't  see  him?  "  Mother  said  God  would  help ; 
but  God  don't  seem  to  hear." 

The  big  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes  ;  but  he  wouldn't 

57 


POOR     JACK. 


let  them  fall.     What  was  the  use,  when  nobody  would 
pity  them  ? 

If  he  only  could  take  a  loaf  back  to  Susy  and 
Jennie!  if  he  only  — 

Just  then  a  little  girl  came  tripping  by,  holding  her 
mamma's  hand.  She  had  ten  cents  in  her  pocket,  —  ten 
whole  cents,  to  spend  for  herself  just  as  she  liked, 
you  see.  She  and  her  mother  had  been  thinking  what 
to  buy,  —  candy  or  peanuts,  or  a  new  head  for  dolly. 

"  Oh,  see,  mamma  1 "  she  said  softly,  stopping  short 
in  her  little  tripping  walk.  "  Isn't  he  dirty  ?  and  what 
does  he  want  ?  " 

"  Bread,  I  guess,  Nelly.     He  looks  hungry." 

"  Oh,  dear !  Does  he  really,  mamma  ?  But  why 
don't  he  go  home  and  get  a  slice?  Don't  you  s'pose 
his  mother  would  give  him  some  ?  " 

"  Ask  him,  dearie." 

"  Little  boy,"  said  Nelly,  —  "  big  boy,  I  mean,  —  do 
you  want  somefing  ?  " 

The  big  boy  choked  back  his  tears,  and  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  saw  you  cry,"  said  Nelly,  — "  two  tears.  Did 
your  mamma  whip  you  ?  Why  don't  you  go  home  to 
dinner  ?  " 

"There  ain't  any  dinner;  and  mother's  dead,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Nelly  softly,  taking  hold  of  his  ragged 
coat-sleeve  :  "  then  why  don't  you  eat  bread  anc1  butter?' 

58 


POOJK. 


"  There  ain't  any  bread,  nor  nothin'  else." 

"Oh,  dear)"  sighed  Nelly,  grieved  to  the  heart  at 
the  thought  of  such  misery. 

"  Do  you  s'pose,"  she  said,  "  if  you  had  ten  cents 
that  would  help?  and  —  and  do  you  s'pose  you'll  tx 
awful  good  if  I  give  it  to  you  ?  because,  don't  you  see, 
my  dolly  can't  have  a  new  head." 

Would  you  believe  it  ?  the  poor  boy  began  to  cry. 

They  took  him  into  the  bakery ;  and  you  couldn't 
begin  to  guess  how  many  things  that  ten  cents  paid 
for,  —  two  loaves  of  bread,  and  a  nice  cake,  and  a  quart 
of  good  rich  milk,  with  a  pail  to  carry  it  in.  At  least, 
Nelly  thought  she  paid  for  all  these  things  herself;  and 
she  wondered  how  mamma  could  say  it  cost  so  much 
to  keep  house. 

Then  they  went  home  with  poor  Jack,  and  made 
friends  with  his  little  sisters ;  and  they  all  cried  to- 
gether. Nelly  would  have  liked  to  give  away  half  of 
all  her  own  clothes,  to  make  the  little  girls  warm  and 
comfortable ;  and  begged  her  mamma  that  they  might 
be  her  sisters,  and  go  home  to  live  with  her.  "  If  they 
only  will  wash  clean,"  she  added  in  a  whisper ;  "  for  the 
dirt  mightn  't  come  off,  you  know." 

There  were  no  more  hungry  times  after  that ;  for  a 
kind  gentleman  gave  Jack  work  to  do,  and  the  little 
sisters  were  well  fed  and  clothed.  Jack  began  to  think 
in  his  own  heart,  that,  after  all,  God  must  have  heard,, 
and  sent  little  Nelly  to  bring  his  answer. 

59 


THE    KINGBIRD. 


THE  KINGBIRD. 

OH,  little  folk,  eager  at  pictures  to  look, 

And  hear  wonderful  stories  told, 
Do  any,  I  wonder,  who  read  in  this  book, 

Know  aught  of  the  kingbird  bold? 

He's  only  a  flycatcher,  dusky  and  small, 

The  robin  is  larger  than  he; 
But,  big  birds  or  little,  he  lords  it  o'er  all, 

As  saucy  as  saucy  can  be. 

He  chases  the  eagles,  the  hawks,  and  the  crows, 

Till  weary  they  are  of  their  life ; 
And  after  his  frolic,  triumphant  he  goes, 

Singing,  "Victory!"  home  to  his  wife: 

And  perched  on  a  twig  by  the  side  of  the  nest, 
Twitters  loud  of  the  conquests  he  won; 

He  smooths  the  white  feathers  so  soft  on  his  breast, 
And  tells  her  the  news  and  the  fun. 

60 


THE    KINGBIRD. 


And,  "  Fear  nothing, sweet! "  he  cries,  proudly  and  glad,, 

As  she  sits  in  her  bower  of  green ; 
"  Not  a  bird  dare  approach,  for  good  purpose  or  bad, 

While  I  guard  you,  and  watch,  little  queen." 

So,  over  the  pretty  eggs,  speckled  with  brown, 

She  patiently  broods  day  and  night; 
Till  out  peep  the  tiny  young  heirs  to  the  crown, 

All  alive,  and  so  hungry  and  bright! 

And  when  they  are  grown,  every  prince  of  them  bearsr 

Hidden  under  his  ashen-gray  crest, 
The  crown  of  red  gold  that  the  father-bird  wears  — 

Of  his  race  and  his  kingship  the  test. 

If  you  watch,  little  folk,  in  the  blue  summer  sky, 

You  may  see  him  pursuing  the  crow, 
Or  the  dignified  eagle,  or  hawk,  strong  and  sly, 

And  'tis  none  but  the  kingbird  you'll  know. 

When,  late  in  September,  the  maple-leaves  burn, 

They  gather  together  for  flight; 
And  whither  they  go,  you'll  perhaps  like  to  learn, 

When  they  vanish  away  in  the  night. 

South-westward,  to  Mexico!  High  in  the  air, 

Upborne  on  their  powerful  wings, 
Flying  dauntless  and  steady,  with  head  winds,  or  fair, 

Push  forward  these  resolute  kings. 

61 


THE  RUINED  NEST. 


And,  when  the  snow  chills  us,  and  bitter  winds  bite, 

And  tempests  are  roaring  amain, 
Jn  that  wonderful,  tropical  land  of  delight, 

They  revel  in  summer  again. 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


THE  RUINED  NEST. 


Twitter  the  swallows 
With  grief  and  fear  — 

Ruined  the  home-nest 
They  held  so  dear. 

Eggs  they  had  cherished 

At  such  a  cost  — 
Promise  of  birdlings 

Shattered  and  lost. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


TRUE    CONTENTMENT. 


TRUE  CONTENTMENT; 

OR,  OLD  RICHARD'S  MAXIM. 

When  I  hear  men  around  me  so  loudly  complaining— 
"Our  work  is  too  hard,  and  too  little  our  gaining!" 
I  think  of  poor  Richard,  the  honest  old  fellow, 
With  a  face  like  a  pippin,  so  ruddy  and  mellow. 

From  youth  to  old  age  never  shrank  he  from  labor — 
For  master,  for  self,  for  a  bed-ridden  neighbor: 
His  maxim  was  this  —  which  he  never  repented  — 
"  Do  your  work  like  a  man :  with  your  lot  be  conten 
ted ! " 

Not  the  contentment  that  lingers  and  grovels 
Uncaring,  uncared  for,  in  poverty's  hovels,— 
Toiling  and  moiling  and  thriftlessly  spending, 
And  never  a  thought  on  the  morrow  expending: 

No,  no!     His  contentment  was  higher  and  truer, 
And    made    his    means    great    as    it  made  his  wants 

fewer ; 
That    nerved    his    right  arm,  and  gave  firmness  and 

power 

To  grasp  the  sharp  thorn  with  the  sweet-scented  flower. 

ROGER  QUIDDAM. 

63 


of  <RoKn 

BEARING  His  cross,  forth  went  the  Christ  forlorn, 
His  God-like  forehead  by  the  mock-crown  torn, 
A  little  bird  took  from  that  crown  one  thorn, 
To  soothe  the  dear  Redeemer's  throbbing  head. 
That  bird  did  what  she  could;  His  blood,  'tis  said, 
Down  dropping,  dyed  her  tender  bosom  red. 
Since  then  no  wanton  boy  disturbs  her  nest, 
All  sacred  deem  the  bird  of  ruddy  breast.  Hoskyns-Abrahall. 


SKIP. 


SKIP. 

SKIP  is  a  very  cunning  and  a  very  smart 
little  dog,  living  not  far  from  the  city  of 
Boston.  One  day  last  spring  he  accompanied 
his  two  little  mistresses,  Hattie  and  Jennie, 
to  the  city.  They  all  had  a  very  nice  time; 
but  when  they  reached  the  depot,  on  their 
return,  a  sudden  and  heavy  shower  came  up. 
How  the  little  girls  should  get  home  without 
spoiling  their  pretty  new  suits  was  quite  a 
puzzling  question.  At  last  Hattie  said,  "Let 
us  send  Skip  for  our  umbrellas  and  water- 
proofs." 

Skip  stood  by,  looking  earnestly  at  the 
girls,  as  if  he  knew  they  were  in  difficulty. 
Hattie  wrote  on  the  edge  of  a  newspaper 
which  she  had  with  her,  "We  are  caught  in 
the  rain :  send  us  an  umbrella  and  water- 
proof." 

"Here,  Skip,"  she  said,  "take  this  home, 

there's  a  nice  doggy." 

6s 


«<  CAN'T     HELP     IT.1 


Skip  wagged  his  tail,  pricked  up  his  ears, 
and,  taking  the  paper  in  his  mouth,  scampered 
away  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 

Arriving  home,  the  little  dog  carried  the 
paper  to  H attic's  mother,  and  stood  looking 
at  her  until  she  said, — 

"All  right,  Skip,"  and  sent  one  of  the 
boys  down  with  the  umbrella  and  water- 
proofs to  the  depot. 

This  is  only  one  of  the  very  intelligent 
things  that  Skip  often  does.  He  has  a  great 
many  friends,  and  is  very  much  petted,  and  is 
really  quite  a  useful  little  dog. 


"CANT    HELP    IT." 

THAT  was  what  Bert  always  said  when  any  one 
blamed  him  for  his  careless  ways. 

Susie  came  in  one  morning.  "  O  Bert  1 "  she 
sobbed,  "  when  you  fed  the  rabbits,  you  left  the  door 
unlatched,  and  they  came  out  and  ran  all  over  my  gar- 
den ;  and  they  have  ruined  my  best  plants." 

"Did  they?"  he  said:  "I'm  real  sorry,  Sue;  but  I 

66 


«<  CAN'T     HELP     IT.' 


can't  help  it.  I  meant  to  shut  the  door,  and  I  thought 
I  did."  But  poor  Susie  started  for  school  with  a  very 
tearful  face. 

"  Bert,"  called  his  mother,  after  he  had  caught  the 
rabbits,  "  there  is  a  very  stormy-looking  cloud  in  the 
south.  You  and  Susie  had  better  stay  this  noon. 
Your  lunch  is  in  front  of  the  pantry- window."  So 
Bert  put  it  in  a  tin  pail ;  and  how  nice  it  did  look,  to  be 
sure  I  —  biscuit  and  cold  tongue  and  sponge-cake,  and 
two  little  apple-turnovers. 

"  Here  comes  Bert,  just  in  time  to  pitch  for  us," 
cried  the  ball-players  as  he  neared  the  schoolhouse. 
He  set  the  pail  on  the  ground,  and  ran  to  his  place. 

"Hadn't  you  better  leave  it  on  the  fence?"  sug- 
gested one  of  the  boys. 

"  No  ;  it's  all  right,"  he  said.  But  a  hungry  dog 
came  up  behind  them  ;  and,  when  the  bell  rang,  nothing 
was  left  but  the  inside  of  the  turnovers  ;  for  Bert  had 
hurried  away  in  the  morning  without  waiting  for  the 
cover. 

"  Won't  Sue  be  provoked,  though  ?  "  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  But  I  can't  help  it.  Mr.  Maloney  ought  not  to 
starve  his  dog  so." 

The  rain  came,  and  at  night  he  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  change  his  muddy  shoes.  He  kicked  them 
off,  and  one  flew  across  the  room  into  a  basket  of  clean 
clothes  just  folded  for  ironing.  Every  article  it 
touched  would  have  to  be  washed  over. 

68 


UNCLE  BERT'S  LETTER. 


UNCLE  BERT'S  LETTER. 

VENICE,  May  5,  1869. 

EAR  LITTLE  BESSIE,  —  I  am  writing 
you  this  letter  from  Venice.  Now, 
Venice  is  the  queerest  place  you  ever 
saw  or  heard  of.  It  is  a  city,  where 
men  and  women  live,  just  as  they  do 
in  Boston ;  but  it  is  built  all  in  the  wa- 
ter, and  the  streets  are  all  the  time  full  of  water,  like 
little  rivers.  When  I  tell  you  that  it  is  built  in  the 
water,  I  don't  mean  that  it  is  a  city  built  on  a  large 
island,  and  water  all  around  it ;  but  it  is  like  this  : 
Suppose  you  should  take  your  box  of  houses  I  gave 
you  last  Christmas,  and  stand  the  houses  all  together, 
and  the  two  white  churches,  with  the  red  roofs,  and 
tall  spires,  alongside  of  the  houses,  and  put  them  all 
in  a  tin  pan.  Now,  if  you  should  pour  a  little  water 
in  the  pan,  the  houses  would  all  be  standing  in  the 
water.  Well ;  that  would  be  like  Venice.  It  is  built 
on  seventy-two  little  islands,  all  close  together,  and 
the  islands  have  little  bridges  across  from  one  side  to 
the  other.  Now  all  these  seventy-two  islands  contain 
a  great  many  houses,  and  their  cellars  are  always  in 
the  water.  Green  seaweed,  such  as  you  find  at  Na- 
hant,  on  the  rocks,  grows  around  all  the  houses. 

69 


UNCLE  BERT'S  LETTER. 


"  Well,"  you  will  say,  "  that  must  be  a  funny  city."  So 
it  is.  I  wonder  how  you  would  like  to  live  there? 
You  would  have  to  be  very  careful,  for  if  you  dropped 
your  thimble  out  of  the  window,  it  would  sink  down 
into  the  water,  and  you  could  not  find  it  again ;  or,  if 
you  should  drop  your  beautiful  Paris  doll,  she  would 
get  a  cold  bath,  with  all  her  fine  clothes  on. 

Now,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  seen  in  Venice 
that's  very  odd.  In  the  first  place,  there  are  two  round, 
granite  columns,  very  high,  that  stand  near  each  other. 
On  the  top  of  one  of  these  is  a  large  stone  lion,  with 
great  big  white  marble  eyes.  He  is  a  very  fierce-look- 
ing lion,  with  his  mouth  open,  and  his  front  paw  lifted 
up ;  and  he  has  great  big  wings  too,  like  a  large  bird. 
Now,  will  you  remember  what  I  tell  you  about  him  ? 
When  you  are  reading  in  the  Bible  some  day,  you  will 
learn  of  four  great  beasts  that  St.  John  saw  in  a  dream. 
One  of  them  was  a  lion,  and  had  wings.  They  were 
supposed  to  represent  the  four  of  our  Saviour's  apos- 
tles who  wrote  the  Gospels,  —  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke, 
and  John.  The  lion  was  supposed  to  represent  St. 
Mark.  Well,  when  Venice  was  a  flourishing  city, 
many  hundred  years  ago,  the  people  prayed  to  St. 
Mark,  and  asked  him  to  be  the  guardian  of  their  city, 
and  keep  off  all  kinds  of  diseases  from  them,  and  pre- 
serve them  from  war.  They  built  a  very  large  church, 
too,  and  called  it  after  St.  Mark.  So  he  is  the  saint 
of  the  city,  and  every  one  prays  to  him.  I  do  not 

70 


UNCLE  BERT'S  LETTER. 


think  this  is  right,  for  they  can  have  no  one  but  God 
to  help  them.  But  the  people  who  live  in  Venice  be- 
lieve St.  Mark  will  always  protect  them.  So  they  put 
a  great  stone  lion  on  this  pillar,  where  every  one  can 
see  it,  and  it  is  called  the  lion  of  St.  Mark.  You  know, 
we  have  the  eagle  on  all  our  shields,  and  on  the  gold 
and  silver  money.  That  is  because  the  eagle  is  the 
American  emblem,  just  as  the  winged  lion  is  the  em- 
blem of  Venice. 

Outside  of  the  church  of  St.  Mark  are  two  large 
red  flagstaffs,  and  the  colors  of  Italy  float  from  them 
now.  Besides,  there  is  a  tall,  square  tower,  with  a 
pointed  roof,  in  which  is  a  large  bell.  A  man  lives  in 
the  tower  all  the  time,  and  every  half-hour  he  rings 
the  bell.  Then,  too,  near  by,  is  a  large  clock.  On  it 
is  a  statue  of  the  Virgin,  and  another  gold  lion  of  St. 
Mark.  The  clock  is  painted  blue,  and  has  gilt  stars 
on  it,  to  represent  the  heavens  at  night ;  and  it  has  a 
gilt  moon,  which  rises  and  sets  whenever  the  real 
moon  does.  Two  black  men,  made  of  wood,  stand  on 
each  side  of  the  great  bell,  —  above  the  clock  —  and 
whenever  it  is  a  full  hour,  they  beat  with  hammers  on 
this  bell.  You  would  be  greatly  pleased  to  see  them. 

UNCLE  BERT. 

This  is  Bessie's  reply  to  her  Uncle's  letter.  She 
is  only  five,  and  I  rather  think  her  mother  must  have 
helped  her:  — 

72 


UNCLE  BERT'S  LETTER. 


DEAR  UNCLE,  —  I  got  your  letter.  I  like  what 
you  said  about  Venice.  My  doll  has  broke  her  arm, 
and  the  sawdust  came  out.  Papa  will  mend  it.  Did 
you  see  the  big  lion  with  wings  ?  Winnie  put  it  near 
the  stove,  and  her  eye  melted  out.  I  have  got  a  kit- 
ten with  a  bell  on  her  neck.  She  drinks  milk;  when 
are  you  coming  home  ?  I  should  be  afraid  of  losing 
all  my  playthings,  if  I  lived  in  Venice.  Could  my  kit- 
ten live  in  Venice  ?  Old  Billy  is  lame.  Papa  won't 
whip  him,  and  he  won't  go  fast.  I  put  my  houses  in 
the  bath-tub,  and  all  the  paint  came  off.  Does  the 
paint  come  off  in  Venice?  My  doll  is  sick.  Mamma 
sends  her  love,  and  I  send  a  kiss ;  it  has  got  the  mea- 
sles. Good-bye.  BESSIE. 

73 


TOWZER. 


TOWZER. 

LITTLE  ALICE,  with  her  pitcher, 

Dainty,  fair,  and  sweet, 
Stands  with  slender  arms  uplifted, 

And  small  naked  feet. 

"Alice,  Alice,"  growled  old  Towzer, 

"  Let  me  drink,  I  pray." 
Little  Alice,  with  her  pitcher, 

Turned  her  head  away. 

Don't  you  see,  you  queer  old  Towzer, 

Those  sweet  ruby  lips, 
How  they  bend  to  meet  the  pitcher 

With  small  dainty  sips  ? 

But  your  lips  are  large  and  ugly: 

If  she  lets  you  drink, 
Would  she  let  you  use  her  pitcher, 

Towzer,  do  you  think  ? 

74 


A     PROVIDENT     LITTLE     BIRD. 

"If  you  only  wouldn't  slobber, 

Doggy  dear ! "  she  said, 
Bending  down  to  stroke  old  Towzer 

On  his  shaggy  head. 

Then  she  stooped,  and  poured  the  water 

In  her  tiny  hand: 
Towzer  drank,  and  thought  this  goblet 

Best  in  all  the  land. 


A   PROVIDENT  LITTLE  BIRD. 

" GOOD-MORNING,  little  birdie:  tell  us  again  your 
name." 

"  Chick-a-dee,  chick-a-dee,"  answered  little  black-cap. 

"  So  you  have  come  for  your  breakfast  of  sun- 
flower seed,  have  you  ?  " 

"Chick-a-dee,  chick-a-dfe£,"  was  again  his  reply. 

"  Well,  here  it  is ; "  and  I  threw  a  handful  on  the 
snow  under  the  window.  "  But  where  are  your  com- 
panions ?  " 

Little  birdie  only  sang  as  before,  "Chick-a-dee, 
chick-a-dee-dee,"  and  then  flew  down  and  began  his 
work. 

76 


A     PROVIDENT     LITTLE     BIRD. 


Taking  up  a  seed,  he  would  fly  to  a  tree  near  by, 
choose  a  suitable  twig,  on  which  he  would  firmly  hold 
the  seed  with  both  feet,  and  then  peck  and  peck  till  he 
opened  it.  How  rapidly  does  his  little  head,  like  a 
hammer,  go  back  and  forth  as  he  pe'.ks  away,  scatter- 
ing the  bits  of  dark  chips  on  the  snow  beneath,  as 
with  blow  after  blow  he  strikes  his  sharp  bill  into  the 
shell !  After  drawing  out  the  meat,  holding  it  tightly 
on  the  twig  as  at  first,  he  quickly  eats  it  up,  piece  by 
piece ;  and  then  down  he  goes  for  another. 

By  and  by  I  happened  to  notice,  that  after  pecking 
away  at  a  seed,  and,  as  I  supposed,  eating  it,  he  would 
fty  off  somewhere  for  a  minute  before  flying  down  for 
another  seed  as  usual. 

''  Ah,  little  birdie  I "  thought  I,  "  what  does  this 
mean?  I'll  find  you  out  if  I  can." 

So  the  next  time  I  followed  him  with  my  eyes  as 
he  flew  with  the  seed  to  a  neighboring  lattice.  There 
he  began  looking  sharply  in  its  crevices,  as  though  he 
wanted  a  relish  of  spiders'  eggs  to  eat  with  his  seed ; 
but  he  soon  came  back  with  an  empty  bill.  Chipping 
out  another  kernel,  he  went  off  this  time  to  an  old 
grape-vine,  where  I  saw  him  carefully  tuck  his  little 
morsel  under  the  bark.  To  make  sure,  having  noted 
the  spot,  I  took  my  hat,  and  went  out  to  the  vine. 
Here  I  soon  found  it,  sure  enough,  just  where  I  saw 
smart  little  black-cap  put  it,  hidden  under  a  piece  of 
loose  bark.  But  whether  for  himself,  should  the  snow 

78 


THE     LITTLE     GIRL     WHO     HAD     A     FIT. 

rome  and  cover  the  seed  on  the  ground,  or  whether  for 
any  hungry  bird  that  might  chance  to  find  them,  was 
he  thus  laying  by  in  store,  I  cannot  tell. 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL  WHO  HAD  A  FIT. 

A  DREADFUL  thing  happened  to  Nellie  one  day. 
She  had  a  fit,  —  one  of  the  very  worst  kind ;  one  that 
works  inside,  and  makes  a  child  ugly  and  unlovable, — 
a  fit  of  selfishness. 

I'll  tell  you  how  it  was.  Papa  had  put  up  a  lovely 
swing,  with  four  ropes  and  a  nice  wide  board,  so  that  it 
would  be  very  safe.  Nellie  had  swung  all  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  in  the  afternoon  little  Katy  Carter,  her  best 
friend,  came  over  to  see  her,  with  her  brother  Willy. 

Of  course  they  all  rushed  out  to  see  the  new  swing, 
and  the  two  visitors  wanted  to  try  it;  but  just  at  that 
moment  the  fit  came  on  inside  of  Nellie,  and  she 
cried,  — 

"  No  1  it's  my  own  swing,  and  I  want  to  swing  my- 
self." 

"  You've  swung  ever  so  much,"  suggested  Katy. 

"  P'raps  I  have,  Miss  Katy  Carter ;  but  my  papa 
put  it  up  for  my  own  self,  and  I  haven't  had  anybody 
to  swing  me  since  he  went  to  the  office.  I  want  Willy 
to  push  me  first.  I  want  to  see  how  high  I  can  go." 

70 


THE     LITTLK     GIRL     WHO     HAD     A     FIT. 

Nellie's  lips  stuck  out,  and  an  ugly  wrinkle  came  in 
her  smooth  forehead.  She  looked  more  like  a  naughty 
goblin  than  a  nice  little  girl.  What  a  dreadful  fit,  to 
twist  her  sweet  face  so  out  of  shape  1  What  horrible 
work  it  must  have  made  in  her  heart,  to  show  so  clearly 
in  her  face  1 

Dear,  dear  I  Suppose  she  should  never  be  cured, 
and  that  ugly  scowl  should  grow  into  her  forehead,  so 
that  she  could  never  get  it  out;  and  her  lips  should 
grow  into  a  pout,  and  never  look  sweet  and  lovable 
again  1  Some  people  do  spoil  their  faces  in  that  very 
way  ;  and  when  you  see  a  grown-up  with  ugly,  cross 
face,  you  may  always  know  it  is  because  there's  a  fit 
working  inside.  It  may  be  selfishness,  or  it  may  be 
avarice,  or  it  may  be  some  other  ugly  passion;  but, 
whatever  it  is,  it  always  works  through  to  the  outside, 
and  shows  in  the  face. 

Nellie's  fit  did  not  last  so  long  as  that,  though  it 
did  make  her  so  disagreeable  that  day.  Willy  was  a 
little  gentleman ;  so  he  said  he  would  swing  her :  and 
Katy  was  a  little  lady,  who  never  had  a  horrid  fit  in  her 
round  little  dumpling  of  a  body;  so  she  sat  quietly 
down  in  the  grass,  to  wait  her  turn :  while  Nellie 
swung  back  and  forth  as  high  as  Willy  could  push 
her,  caring  only  to  have  a  good  time  herself,  whether 
any  one  else  did  or  not. 

Katy  was  a  sweet  little  thing ;  and  she  soon  made 
herself  happy  with  some  daisies  she  found  in  the  grass, 

80 


THE     LITTLE     GIRL     WHO     HAD     A     FIT. 

and  even  offered  Nellie  the  prettiest  one  to  stick  in  her 
hat  beside  those  the  milliner  had  put  there. 

But  although  Nellie  had  her  own  way,  and  every 
thing  was  just  as  she  had  arranged  it,  yet  somehow 
she  did  not  enjoy  it  s©  much  as  she  expected ;  and  the 
wrinkle  didn't  get  out  of  her  forehead  at  all,  till  some- 
thing had  happened  that  cured  her  fit,  though  it  was  a 
rough  way  of  cure,  —  something  like  taking  a  dose  of 
bitter  medicine  to  cure  a  pain  in  the  body. 

I  don't  know  exactly  how  it  happened ;  whether  she 
turned  too  far  around  to  look  at  Katy,  or  whether  she 
was  dizzy  with  swinging  so  long :  probably  it  was 
another  effect  of  that  ugly  fit.  However  it  was,  she 
lost  her  hold  of  the  rope,  and  fell  with  a  crash  against 
the  root  of  a  tree.  Her  head  got  a  severe  blow ;  and 
John  the  coachman  came  running  up,  and  carried  her 
screaming  in  to  her  mother;  and  she  had  to  have  a 
brown  paper  wet  and  laid  on  the  bump,  which  swelled 
up  as  big  as  a  walnut,  and  lie  on  mamma's  bed  all  the 
afternoon  with  a  headache. 

That  left  a  good  chance  for  Katy  to  have  a  nice 
swing,  didn't  it  ?  She  and  Willy  could  stay  as  long  as 
they  pleased,  and  swing  as  much  as  they  wanted  to, 
while  Nellie  was  suffering  in  the  house.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  is  what  sweet  little  Katy  did  ? 

No,  indeed  1  She  never  even  tried  the  swing.  She 
brought  her  basket  of  daisies  into  the  house,  and  sat 
down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  made  a  chain  for 

82 


1HE     £,ITTL-E     GIRL     WHO     HAD     A     FIT. 

Nellie;  and  she  wet  the  brown  paper  when  it  dried; 
and  she  even  ran  home,  and  brought  her  own  precious 
wax  dolly  out  of  the  drawer  where  it  lived,  —  because 
it  was  too  nice  to  play  with,  you  know,  —  and  let  Nellie 
hold  it  in  her  arms,  and  feed  it  with  tiny  glass  beads 
between  its  four  cunning  little  teeth;  for,  strange  to 
say,  that  was  all  the  food  the  beautiful  waxen  creature 
cared  to  take,  or  even  could  get  between  her  small 
white  teeth.  I  shouldn't  suppose  that  was  a  very 
nourishing  diet :  but  Miss  Clementine  Eugenie  Antoi- 
nette seemed  to  flourish  on  it;  for  redder  cheeks  or 
brighter  eyes  I'm  sure  were  never  seen,  at  least  out  of 
a  doll-factory. 

Katy  never  went  near  the  swing  till  it  began  to 
grow  dark,  and  Nellie's  mamma  told  her  to  go  and 
swing  a  while  before  she  went  home ;  and  then  she  left 
the  wonderful  French  visitor  who  lived  on  glass  beads 
to  amuse  Nellie  while  she  was  gone. 

Now,  mamma  had  been  sitting  at  the  window, 
behind  the  blinds,  all  the  afternoon,  though  the  children 
did  not  know  it ;  and  she  had  noticed  the  fit  that  was 
spoiling  her  dear  little  girl.  So  now,  when  Nellie  was 
quiet  and  cool,  and  had  time  to  think,  mamma  just  said 
quietly,  — 

"I  am  glad  Katy  isn't  a  selfish  girl,  because  she 
wouldn't  have  left  her  precious  doll  to  amuse  you  if 
sh'e  were." 

That  was  all  she  said ;  and  she  went  on  with  her 

8s 


THE     LITTLE     GIRL     WHO     HAD     A     Ffc  \ 

sewing,  and  never  looked  towards  the  bed  as  though 
she  meant  anybody  in  particular.  But  Nellie  had 
nothing  else  to  think  of  then ;  and  she  had  been  so  well 
taught,  that  she  knew  well  enough  she  had  been  very 
selfish.  So  she  thought  of  her  mother's  words,  and 
her  own  conduct  about  the  swing,  and  Katy's  gen- 
erosity in  going  home  to  get  her  greatest  treasure  to 
entertain  her  after  her  meanness. 

And  big  round  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  rolled 
down  on  to  the  pillow :  and  it's  very  queer,  but  those 
salt  drops  finished  the  cure  that  the  bump  had  begun ; 
and  poor  Nellie  saw  what  a  dreadful  fit  she  had  had, 
and  became  so  ashamed  of  herself,  that  she  laid  the 
doll  carefully  off  on  the  other  pillow,  so  that  she  should 
be  sure  not  to  hurt  it ;  and,  when  Katy  came  in  to  say 
good-by,  all  the  wrinkles  and  pouts  and  aches  and  tears 
were  gone. 

The  next  day,  when  Katy  came  again,  Nellie  made 
her  swing  more  than  half  the  time,  and  felt  ever  so 
much  better  for  it ;  for  when  people  are  selfish,  though 
they  may  keep  every  thing  themselves,  they  never  enjoy 
themselves  much. 

I  never  heard  of  Nellie's  having  another  fit. 


84 


ON  THE  KEEL. 


ON  THE  KEEL. 

Harry,  how  would  you  like  a  row 
to  Strawberry  Island  ?  " 

"First  rate!  —  Just  the  dayi 
The  strawberries  must  be  ripe, 
too." 

"  Of  course  they  are.  Guess  I 
haven't  forgotten  the  feast  we  had 
last  year." 

"  Ida  was  with  us  then.     Per- 
haps she'll  wanjt  to  go  to-day,  Will." 

"So  much  the  better.  Ida  never  bothers  us  like 
other  girls.  Come,  we'll  get  a  lunch  and  start  right 
away." 

Entering  the  house  they  found  their  sister  suffer- 
ing with  the  teeth-ache.  "  I'd  like  to  go  ever  so  much," 
she  said,  "  but  this  old  tooth  has  commenced  a  regular 
grumble,  I  know;  so  I  won't  spoil  your  fun  by  going." 
"It's  too  bad,"  said  Will,  "Can't  you  make  the  old 
fellow  grumble  irregularly,  and  hush  up  just  long 
enough  to  go  to  our  strawberry  feast,  Ida?  " 

"Wish  I  could,  but  —  O  dear  me! — What  a  twinge 
that  was !  It's  no  use,  boys.  You'd  better  go  with- 
out me  this  time.  Bring  me  lots  of  strawberries  and 
I  shan't  care  so  much." 

85 


ON  THE  KEEL. 


As  the  boys  were  leaving,  the  tooth  did  ease  off 
long  enough  for  her  to  say,  "O  Harry,  here's  Tige! 
Let  him  go  in  my  place.  He'll  enjoy  it  almost  as 
well  as  I  should;  wouldn't  you,  Tige?" 

The  dog  pricked  up  his  ears  and  wagged  his  tail 
affirmatively. 

"Is't  best,  Will?"  asked  Harry. 

Will  laughed  to  see  Tige  look  from  one  to  the 
other  so  intelligently.  "  He's  asking  as  plainly  as  Ida 
did.  Yes,  Tige  !  Come  along  !  "  . 

The  way  the  great,  handsome  creature  bounded  on 
before,  then  raced  back  again,  then  on  before,  was 
laughable  to  one  who  had  never  seen  a  dog  express 
thanks  before. 

"I  should  think  you's  crazy,  Tige,"  said  Harry,  at 
last.  "Why  not  walk  along  like  a  sensible  dog?" 

At  this  Tige  whirled  round  several  times,  then 
seized  a  stick  and  jumped  into  the  water  to  show  his 
sense. 

"Keep  your  rain-drops  to  yourself!"  exclaimed 
Will,  as  Tige  scrambled  into  the  boat  and  shook  him- 
self vigorously. 

After  rowing  about  half  an  hour  they  came  to  a 
lovely  little  island,  situated  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the 
lake.  It's  most  attractive  feature  —  to  boys  —  was  the 
abundance  of  large,  finely  flavored  strawberries.  Not 
as  large  as  cultivated  berries,  of  course,  but  large  for 
wild  ones. 


ON  THE  KEEL. 


The  boys  found  them  just  right  to  pick.  After  a 
delicious  feast,  their  baskets  were  speedily  filled,  and 
they,  ready  for  the  home  trip. 

"  I  saw  some  pond-lilies  somewhere  on  the  way 
over,"  said  Will,  "let's  get  some  for  Ida." 

"  So  I  say.     She'll  like  them  grandly." 

They  were  nearly  half  way  home  when  they  found 
the  lilies.  A  dozen  or  more  of  the  beautiful  flowers 
lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  when  Harry  spied  one 
still  more  perfect,  he  thought. 

"There's  a  beauty!"  he  cried.  "I'll  have  just  one 
more." 

Thinking  it  was  within  reach  without  moving  the 
boat,  he  stretched  out  his  arm  to  grasp  it.  Will,  just 
at  this  moment,  thoughtlessly  stepped  to  that  side  of 
boat  to  see  what  Harry  was  reaching  after,  and  the 
boat  was  upset.  Neither  of  them  could  swim  and  the 
water  was  deep.  They  sank  and  rose  again  dripping 
and  terrified.  The  boat  was  so  wet  and  slippery  that 
they  could  not  keep  a  firm  hold. 

They  knew  not  what  to  do.  But  Tige  did.  He 
seemed  to  have  more  presence  of  mind  than  either. 
He  watched  their  vain  attempts  to  climb  upon  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat  with  deep  anxiety.  They  were  al- 
most ready  to  give  up  in  despair,  when  Tige,  with  an 
encouraging  bark,  leaped  out  of  the  water  and  plant- 
ed his  feet  firmly  upon  the  upturned  keel. 

Harry  and  Will  were  not  slow  to  avail  themselves 


ON  THE  KEEL. 


of  his  help.  By  clinging  to  his  strong,  shaggy  legs, 
they  managed  to  raise  themselves  and  get  astride  the 
boat.  But  their  oars  were  gone,  and  what  could  be 
done  now? 

They  seemed  to  remain  perfectly  motionless;  but 
to  their  great  joy  they  soon  perceived  that  the  boat 
was  slowly  drifting  towards  the  shore.  The  moment 
it  reached  shallow  water,  they  jumped  off  and  righted 
the  boat. 

"Too  bad  about  Ida's  strawberries;  ain't  it?"  said 
Will. 

"Yes,  I  thought  of  them  when  the  boat  went  over. 
Two  of  the  lilies  got  twisted  round  my  arm.  They 
are  safe  here;  but  the  berries  may  keep  floating  as 
long  as  they  please,  for  all  me.  Awful  waste  of  straw- 
berry juice,  though;  ain't  it?"  said  Harry,  with  a 
thoughtful  look  back  over  the  water. 

"  That's  a  fact ! "  replied  Will.  "  And  there's  anoth- 
er fact  about  it,  Harry,  —  but  for  Tige  we  might  not 
be  standing  on  the  land  here." 

"  That's  so  !     And  we'd  better  not  stand  long  now." 

Empty-handed,  with  the  exception  of  two  lovely 
lilies,  they  entered  the  house  after  a  run  home. 
Mother  and  sister  looked  at  them  in  astonishment. 

"Where  in  the  world,  boys,  have  you  been?"  cried 
Ida. 

"After  lilies."  Will  smiled  faintly  as  he  laid  the 
flowers  in  her  hand. 

89 


ON  THE  KEEL. 


"  But  you  are  wet  through ! "  She  passed  her  hand 
quickly  over  his  sleeve,  then  on  to  Harry's.  "Why, 
mother,  do  look!  They  are  both  just  as  wet  as  they 
can  be!" 

"  Of  course  we  are,  when  we've  been  in  the  water 
all  over,"  Harry  answered.  "And  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Ida,  that  was  a  lucky  thought  of  yours  about  taking 
Tige  with  us.  If  he  had  stayed  at  home  we  might 
not  be  here  now  to  tell  our  story." 

"  I'm  thankful  Ida  wasn't  with  you,"  said  their 
mother,  when  the  story  was  told.  "You  see,  children, 
just  how  trifles  often  affect  our  whole  lives.  But  for 
Ida's  toothache,  she  would  have  gone  in  Tige's  place, 
and  I  might  now  be  childless.  Never  forget  that 
there  is  an  over-ruling  Hand  in  all  the  events  of  our 
lives." 


90 


LITTLE  HAY-MAKER. 


LITTLE  HAY-MAKER. 

ENNIE  Lambert  lives  on  a  large 
farm.  Her  father  has  acres  and 
acres  of  land  covered  with  grass. 
And  in  summer,  during  haying- 
time,  you  may  be  sure  there  is  rare 
fun  for  the  children. 

Jennie    has    a   "house-full"  of 
brothers  and  sisters,  she  says ;  so- 
there  are  many  willing  hands  and 
feet  beside  those  of  the  hired  men. 
There's  big  Phil,  as  Jennie  calls  him, 
because  he's  a  little  taller  than  his  father; 
next  comes  Newton,  so  small  in  contrast, 
that  the  nick-name  dwarf  clings  to  him. 
Ralph  is  the  little  boy,  because  he  happens  to  be 
younger  than  herself;  yet  he  is  her  favorite  companion, 
for  sister  Marion  likes  playing  with  baby  Lulu  better 
than  making  hay. 

One  morning  her  father  said  he  should  want  all 
hands  to  turn  out,  as  he  had  a  large  quantity  of  hay 
down,  and  he  was  afraid  it  would  rain  before  night. 
As  early  as  possible  the  work  was  finished  in  the 
house,  and  all  but  her  mother  started  for  the  field. 

91 


LITTLE  HAY-MAKER. 


Baby  Lulu,  evidently,  did  not  intend  to  help  much, 
for  she  took  a  doll  in  each  chubby  hand  —  probably 
that  they  might  enjoy  the  sport. 

Jennie  cared  little  for  books,  so  she  called  Marion 
lazy  when  she  saw  her  with  one  under  her  arm. 

"Well,  somebody  will  have  to  see  to  Lulu,  and  you 
can't  keep  still  long  enough.  I  might  just  as  well 
read  a  little  if  I'm  sitting  down,"  was  Marion's  answer. 

Jennie  and  Ralph  thought  they  helped  wonderfully; 
but  they  spent  so  much  time  pelting  each  other  with 
the  fragrant  hay,  that  Dinah  threatened  to  send  them 
into  the  house. 

"  It's  as  bad  as  'tis  trying  to  drive  flies  out  —  flirt 
round  in  one  corner  and  away  they  whisk  into  another. 
Here  I've  raked  and  raked,  and  I  don't  get  ahead  a 
bit,  for  you  two  young  ones  toss  the  hay  about  so. 
Off  with  you  now ! " 

At  this,  Jennie  and  Ralph  seized  an  armful  of  hay 
and  ran  to  another  part  of  the  field. 

There  was  one  thing  which  Marion  enjoyed  as  well 
as  Jennie  —  riding  to  the  barn  on  top  of  a  load.  Being 
in  a  hurry,  their  father  gave  them  no  chance  when  the 
first  loads  went  in.  But  later  in  the  day  it  looked 
less  like  rain,  so  he  told  them  to  be  ready. 

Marion  left  Lulu  with  Dinah,  then  she  took  her 
place  on  the  smaller  load  with  Phil.  Jennie  and 
Ralph  liked  the  larger  load  because  there  were  two 
horses  with  that. 

92 


LITTLE  HAY-MAKER. 


Phil  started  first  with  his  load.  One  of  the  men 
was  going  with  the  span,  as  Mr.  Lambert  had  a  lame 
ankle  and  didn't  care  to  be  on  top  of  a  load.  Just  as 
the  span  reached  the  road,  in  some  unaccountable  way 
they  took  fright,  and,  instead  of  turning  into  the  yard,, 
started  on  a  run  up  the  road. 

Mr.  Lambert  shouted  to  the  children  to  jump  from 
the  load  at  once.  Only  Ralph  understood.  He  crept 
to  the  back  of  the  load,  and,  slipping  partly  off,  jumped 
to  the  ground  and  escaped  uninjured.  Poor  Jennie 
was  not  so  fortunate.  In  turning  a  sharp  corner  the 
load  was  overturned,  and  she  was  thrown  violently  to 
the  ground.  She  was  taken  up  insensible. 

On  examination  they  found  one  leg  broken.  This 
was  a  great  trial  to  the  active  child ;  much  more  so 
than  it  would  have  been  to  her  sister.  But  Jennie 
learned  to  prize  thoughtful  Marion  much  more  than 
she  ever  had  before. 

Marion  never  tired  of  amusing  Jennie  in  any  way" 
she  liked.  Sometimes  it  was  reading  one  of  her 
favorite  books  —  often  working  out  some  puzzle  — 
then  making  a  wonderful  costume  for  their  dolls. 

What  amused  Jennie  more  than  anything  else,, 
however,  was  making  an  illustrated  scrap-book;  for 
she  liked  to  examine  the  pictures  if  it  was  too  much 
trouble  to  read  about  them. 

When  Jennie  was  able  to  walk  on  the  ground 
again,  the  hay  was  all  in  the  barns.  But  she  was 

93 


GRANDMA'S  STORY. 


obliged  to  use  a  crutch  instead  of  a  rake,  sO  she  could 
not  have  helped  or  hindered  any  more  that  season. 

But  the  little  hay-maker  was  all  ready   the    next 
summer  to  tumble  in  the  hay  again,  or  ride  with  Phil 
-she  always  chose  Phil  after  her  fall  — on  the  top  of 
the  load  to  the  barn. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


GRANDMA'S  STORY. 

RING  your  chairs  close  to  me,  chil- 
dren, then  I  sha'n't  have  to  speak 
so  loud,"  said  grandma,  kindly, 
when  the  little  ones  begged  for  a 
story. 

Nannie  and  Carl  obeyed  so 
strictly,  that  it  would  have  been 
rather  difficult  for  grandma  to 
move  without  tearing  her  dress. 

But  the  dear  old  lady  didn't 
mind.  She  loved  to  have  the  chil- 
dren near.  Little  Ella  knew  this  very  well,  so  she  nest- 
led in  grandma's  lap. 

When  all  were  ready,  grandma  said,  "I  will  tell 

94 


GRANDMA'S  STORY. 


you  a  true  story  about  something  I  saw  when  I  came 
west,  years  ago.  I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  New 
England.  Your  mother  was  just  four  years  old  when 
we  decided  to  come  here. 

"  Travelling  was  slower  work  then,  than  it  is  now. 
We  came  across  the  prairies  in  great  emigrant  wagons." 

"What  kind  of  wagons  are  those,  grandma?  "  asked 
Carl. 

"O  great,  white  ones  —  something  like  a  butcher's 
wagon.  Whole  families  would  live  in  one  for  weeks. 
And  —  " 

"  Sleep  there,  too  ?  "  interrupted  little  Ella. 

"Yes,  dear.  It  was  better  than  sleeping  on  the 
ground.  We  used  to  stop  for  the  night  where  the 
cattle  and  horses  could  get  plenty  to  eat  and  drink. 
One  very  warm  day  when  all  felt  tired  of  riding  over 
what  seemed  like  endless  plains,  and  the  children 
were  getting  decidedly  cross,  we  came  upon  the  funni- 
est little  village  you  ever  saw." 

"A  village,  grandma!"  repeated  Nannie.  "I 
thought  there  wasn't  many  houses  on  the  prairies 
then." 

"Well,  there  were  no  houses  in  that  village,"  re- 
plied grandma,  smiling.  "That  is  no  houses  large 
enough  for  you  to  live  in." 

"  Big  enough  for  me  ?  "  Carl  asked. 

"  No,  not  for  you." 

"  For  me,  grandma  ?  " 

95 


GRANDMA'S  STORY. 


"  No,  not  for  you,  Ella.  It  was  a  prairie-dog  vil- 
lage. And  the  houses  were  only  low  mounds  of  earth. 
The  dogs  burrow  in  the  ground  like  rabbits.  Near 
the  top  of  each  mound  was  the  entrance  —  a  hole  not 
much  larger  than  would  have  been  used  by  a  rat." 


11  Didn't  mamma  want  one  to  keep  ?  "  asked  Nannie. 

"Yes  all  the  children  wanted  one;  but  the  prairie- 
dog  is  very  shy,  rarely  getting  within  range  of  a  gun. 
Some  of  the  boys  tried  a  long  time  to  catch  them. 

96 


GRANDMA'S   STORY. 


Then  one  of  the  men  said  he  would  have  one  anyway, 
for  he  would  shoot  it.  He  tried  several  times  without 
success,  then  gave  it  up.  I  was  glad,  for  it  seemed 
cruel  to  kill  the  pretty  creatures." 

"  How  did  you  know  they  were  pretty  if  you 
couldn't  go  near  them?  "  Nannie  asked. 

"One  of  our  company  had  a  good  spy-glass.  We 
looked  through  that  and  saw  them  quite  distinctly." 

"How  big  are  they,  grandma?"  inquired  Carl. 

"About  the  size  of  a  common  gray  squirrel.  They 
are  of  a  reddish  brown  color,  with  breasts  of  a  dirty 
white.  They  are  graceful  like  a  squirrel,  arid  really 
resemble  squirrels  more  than  dogs.  They  are  like 
dogs  only  in  their  sharp  little  bark." 

"  Grandma,  who  feeds  them  ? "  asked  Ella,  think- 
ing of  her  own  hungry  Sancho  who  liked  the  good 
things  from  the  table  so  much. 

"O  they  feed  upon  grass,  seeds,  and  roots;  but 
they  eat  very  little.  The  prairie-dog  lives  where  there 
is  scanty  herbage,  and  yet  he  never  wanders  more  than 
half  a  mile  from  his  dwelling." 

"  I  should  think  they'd  starve  in  winter,  then,"  said 
Nannie. 

"The  little  creatures  lie  torpid  in  winter,  in  curious 
nests  made  of  grass,  and  roots,  with  only  a  small  hole 
as  large  as  your  finger  to  admit  the  air.  They  are  sel- 
dom seen  outside  of  their  burrows  in  the  cold  season." 

"  Should  think  the  little  things  would  have  a  jolly 
time  in  a  village  all  their  own,"  said  social  Carl. 

97 


DESTROYING  THE  CARGO. 


"The  prairie  dogs  are  not  the  only  occupants  of 
their  village.  Small  white  owls,  and  rattlesnakes 
share  the  privileges  with  them.  Sometimes,  when 
suddenly  escaping  from  danger,  all  three  enter  the 
same  mound.  But  the  owls  live  in  separate  dwellings 
—  usually  the  ruined  ones,  —  But,  dear  me,  children, 
it's  past  your  bed-time.  Scamper  off  now.  You've 
heard  enough  about  prairie  dogs." 

LAURIE  LORING. 


DESTROYING  THE  CARGO. 

JNTEND  this  story  only  for  the  girls  and  boys 
who  study  history. 

Some  six  years  before  the  declaration 
of  Independence  —  you  all  know  some- 
thing about  Independence  day,  if  not  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  —  the  mer- 
chants of  America  resolved  not  to  import 
anything  from  Great  Britain. 

The  effect  began  to  be  felt  across  the  Atlantic. 
An  appeal  was  made  to  Parliament  by  London  mer- 
chants ;  and  the  offensive  duty  was  removed  from  every 
article  except  tea. 

But  the  Americans  thought  the  British  had  no 
right  to  tax  them  at  all,  and  were  by  no  means  satis- 

98 


DESTROYING  THE  CARGO. 


fied  with  this  partial  concession.     They  gave  up  the 
use  of  tea  altogether. 

No  orders  being  received  from  America,  tea  rapidly 
accumulated  in  England.  The  duty  before  laid  on  its 
exportation  was  removed,  for  the  purpose  of  lowering 
the  price,  and  thus  inducing  the  colonists  to  purchase 
it  in  spite  of  the  import  tax. 

Cargoes  were  sent  out  to  different  American  ports. 
At  New  York  and  Philadelphia  they  would  not  allow 
the  ships  to  land  their  cargoes,  and  they  were  sent 
back  as  they  came.  At  Charleston,  the  tea  was  stored 
in  damp  cellars,  where  it  was  spoiled. 

At  Boston  the  authorities  determined  to  force  the 
tea  upon  the  people,  so  the  people  settled  the  question 
for  themselves. 

Seven  thousand  men  assembled  in  town-meeting, 
on  the  sixteenth  of  December,  1773.  Fearless  speech- 
es were  made.  The  result  was,  an  hour  after  dark,  a 
war-whoop  was  raised,  and  about  fifty  persons  dis- 
guised as  Indians  proceeded  to  the  wharf  where  the 
tea-ships  were  moored. 

The  vessels  were  boarded,  and  the  contents  of 
three  hundred  and  forty  chests  of  tea  were  emptied  in- 
to the  water.  Everything  was  done  in  an  orderly 
manner.  No  resistance  was  offered,  although  many 
people  had  collected  on  the  wharf. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


WHICH? 


WHICH? 

HIS  is  the  question,  boys  —  did  Captain 
Boynton  swim,  or  sail,  or  paddle,  when 
'he    left    the    steamship    Queen,    and 
plunged  into  the  waves  for  the  pur- 
pose of  testing  his  life-preserving  dress  ? 

He  was  in  the  water  seven  hours,  and 
travelled  about  thirty  miles.  It  was  a  wild, 
dark  night,  and  for  hours  Captain  Boynton 
lay  on  his  back,  tossed  about  at  the  mercy 
of  the  winds  and  waves.  He  was  unable 
to  use  his  paddle,  but,  thanks  to  his  dress, 
he  was  dry  and  warm. 

About  one  o'clock  the  wind  changed, 
blowing  on  to  the  land.  With  such  a  sea  his  danger 
was  greater  than  before,  and  he  narrowly  escaped 
death.  More  by  luck  than  anything  else,  however,  he 
got  ashore  safely. 

Afterwards  he  undertook  to  float  across  the  Eng- 
lish Channel,  a  distance  of  over  fifty  miles,  in  one  day. 
Several  reasons  prevented  his  accomplishing  this ;  but 
he  reached  a  point  within  eight  miles  of  his  destina- 
tion, and  emerged  from  the  water  with  dry  clothes,  af- 
ter remaining  in  it  fifteen  hours. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  about  the  dress  which  enables 
Captain  Boynton  to  do  such  remarkable  things. 

100 


WHICH  ? 


It  is  simply  a  dress  of  India  rubber,  made  in  five 
distinct,  air-tight  compartments.  Each  of  these  is 
inflated  by  means  of  a  tube  which  reaches  the  wear- 
er's mouth,  when  the  dress  is  on. 

The  dress  is  made  in  two  pieces,  the  lower  part 
being  like  a  loose  pair  of  trowsers,  ending  in  a  pair  of 
waterproof  socks.  The  upper  part  is  similar  to  a 
jacket,  with  a  head  piece  attached. 

To  allow  of  the  face  being  uncovered,  and  yet  to  be 
quite  water-tight,  an  elastic  padding  fits  around  the 
face,  which  presses  closely  enough  to  keep  out  the  wa- 
ter. The  whole  dress  is  quite  impervious  to  water  or 
even  damp. 

What  will  men  invent  next? 


102 


A     SPARROW     IN     MID-ATLANTIC. 


A  SPARROW  IN   MID-ATLANTIC 

As  I  was  once  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  one  of  the 
large  steamers  that  sail  between  America  and  England, 
I  was  one  day  quietly  reading  a  book  under  the  shelter 
of  the  deck-house,  when  my  attention  was  caught  by  a 
little  bird  hopping  about  on  the  canvas  covering  of  one 
of  the  boats.  I  was  quite  struck  at  his  appearance  at 
such  a  time  and  place,  —  for  we  were  just  then  in  mid- 
Atlantic,  fifteen  hundred  miles  from  land,  —  and  my 
thoughts  at  once  went  wondering  how  this  little  spar- 
row could  have  reached  us  there. 

At  first,  I  thought  he  must  have  escaped  from  some 
one's  keeping  in  the  ship.  Then  I  wondered  if  he  had 
started  with  us ;  for  how  could  the  little  fellow  have 
kept  upon  the  wing  for  so  many,  many  miles  ?  I 
moved  a  little ;  but  he  did  noc  fly  away :  and  then  I 
went  below  and  got  crumbs  of  bread  and  biscuit,  and 
spread  them  on  his  canvas  table;  and,  as  he  hopped 
from  crumb  to  crumb,  he  chirped  his  thanks  for  the 
refreshing  morsels. 

While  I  watched  him,  thinking  that  perchance  he 
would  rest  his  tired  wings  and  stay  with  us  all  the 
voyage  tnrough,  he  flew  off  to  the  shrouds  and  rigging ; 
then  to  the  boacs  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  deck; 

104 


A     LITTLE     BOY'S     WONDER-SONG. 


and,  as  if  trying  his  little  wings  for  flight,  flew  once 
right  round  the  vessel  as  she  careered  along  like  a 
thing  of  life ;  and  at  last,  with  one  farewell  chirrup,  he 
lifted  himself  into  the  air,  and  went  straight  away  to 
the  southward,  —  his  tiny  form  soon  lost  to  sight  in 
the  evening  light. 

And  while  I  sat  and  thought,  as  the  vessel  pitched 
and  tossed  in  the  dark-green  waves,  I  was  led  to  muse 
on  that  wondrous  love  which  marks  even  the  lone 
sparrow's  way,  and  guides  the  little  wanderer  to  food 
and  rest  in  its  long  flight  of  three  thousand  miles ; 
for  not  even  a  sparrow  can  fall  without  the  permission 
of  our  Father  in  heaven. 


A   LITTLE   Boys  "WONDER-SONG. 

I  WONDER,  oh !  I  wonder  what  makes  ve  sun  go  wound ; 
I  wonder  what  can  make  ve  fowers  turn  poppin'  from 

ve  gwound ; 

I  wonder  if  my  dear  mamma  loves  Billy  mor'n  me ; 
I  wonder  if  I'd  beat  a  bear  a-climbin'  up  a  twee ; 
I  wonder  how  ve  angels  'member  eveybody's  pwayers ; 
I  wonder  if  I  didn't  leave  my  sandwich  on  ve  stairs ; 
I  wonder  what  my  teacher  meant  about  "  a  twuthful 

heart ; " 

I  guess  'tis  finkin'  untul  Jack  will  surely  bring  my  cart ; 

106 


DIRTY     JACK. 


I  wonder  what  I'd  do  if  I  should  hear  a  lion'woar; 
I  bet  I'd  knock  'im  on  ve  head,  and  lay  'im  on  ve  floor ! 
I  wonder  if  our  Farver  knew  how  awful  I  did  feel 
When  Tom's  pie  was  in  my  pottet,  and  I  wead,  "  Vou 

shalt  not  steal ;  " 

I  wonder  if,  when  boys  get  big,  it's  dreadful  in  ve  dark ; 
I  wonder  when  my  papa  means  to  have  anover  lark ; 
I  wonder  what  vat   birdie   says  who   hollers    so   and 

sings ; 
I  wonder,  oh  1  I  wonder  -lots  and  lots  of  over  rings  1 


DIRTY  JACK. 

THERE  was  one  little  Jack, 

Not  very  long  back ; 
And  'tis  said,  to  his  lasting  disgrace, 

That  he  never  was  seen 

With  his  hands  at  all  clean, 
Nor  yet  ever  clean  was  his  face. 

His  friends  were  much  hurt 
To  see  so  much  dirt, 
And  often  and  well  did  they  scour ; 


IO7 


DIRTY     JACK. 


But  all  was  in  vain  : 
He  was  dirty  again 
Before  they  had  done  it  an  hour. 

When  to  wash  he  was  sent, 

He  reluctantly  went 
With  water  to  splash  himself  o'er; 

But  he  left  the  black  streaks 

Running  down  both  his  cheeks, 
And  made  them  look  worse  than  before 

The  idle  and  bad 

May,  like  to  this  lad, 
Be  dirty  and  black,  to  be  sure; 

But  good  boys  are  seen 

To  be  decent  and  clean, 
Although  they  are  ever  so  poor. 


108 


THE     SAILOR-BOY. 


"HE    PUT    A    LITTLE    SUGAR    IN." 

*•  CHARLEY,  what  is  it  that  makes  you  so  sweet  ? " 
said  a  loving  mother  one  day  to  her  little  boy  as  she 
pressed  him  to  her  bosom. 

"  I  dess,  when  Dod  made  me  out  of  dust,  he  put  a 
little  thugar  in,"  said  Charley. 

God  has  put  a  little  sugar  in  the  disposition  of  all 
children.  Some  keep  it  there;  and  they  are  always 
sweet,  and  we  cannot  help  loving  them.  Some  lose 
the  sugar  that.  God  gave  them,  and  then  they  become 
sour  and  disagreeable.  Keep  yourselves  always  sweet, 
dear  children,  with  the  sugar  of  love,  and  you  will 
always  be  loved. 


THE  SAILOR-BOY. 

So  you  want  to  be  a  sailor,  do  you,  my  lad  ?  You 
think  it  would  be  fine  to  wear  the  sailor  dress,  and 
come  home  from  foreign  countries  to  astonish  stay-at- 
home  people.  You've  read  exciting  stories  of  poor 
boys  sailing  away  across  the  sea,  and  coming  home 
with  gold  and  treasures,  and  having  wonderful  stories 
of  strange  lands  to  tell. 

Well,  it  does  sound  pleasant,  I  must  say:   and  I 

TIO 


THE     SAILOR-BOY. 


ought  to  know;  for  I  was  just  as  wild  to 'go  to  sea 
when  I  was  of  your  a§^  as  you  are  now.  But  let  me 
tell  you  a  little  about  my  life.  I'll  spin  you  a  sailor's 
yarn  that  shall  be  every  word  true ;  which  is  not  the 
case  with  all  sailors'  yarns,  I'm  sorry  to  say. 

I  don't  remember  when  I  began  to  think  about 
going  to  sea.  I  think  it  must  have  been  when  I  was 
a  baby :  at  any  rate,  when  I  was  ten  years  old  I  had 
but  one  wish  in  the  world,  —  to  be  a  sailor. 

My  poor  mother!  —  how  she  used  to  beg  me  to  go 
to  school,  to  try  and  be  contented  on  shore !  and  how 
she  would  deny  herself  needed  comforts .  to  make  me 
happy,  and  give  me  every  chance  in  life !  It  was  all  in 
vain  :  nothing  but  a  sailor's  life  had  the  least  pleasure 
for  me.  Instead  of  going  to  school,  I  would  lie  on  the 
ground  in  the  orchard,  or  off  on  the  seashore,  and  read 
some  exciting  tale  of  the  sea,  till  I  was  fairly  wild 
about  it.  Go  to  sea  I  must. 

My  mother  would  tell  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
how  hard  was  a  sailor's  life ;  and,  when  that  failed,  she 
talked  to  me  of  her  loneliness  when  I  should  be  gone ; 
for  I  was  all  she  had  in  the  world. 

"  Ah,  Willy !  "  she  would  say,  "  how  many  nights  I 
shall  lie  awake,  listening  to  the  winds  and  the  sea,  and 
thinking  about  my  boy  1 " 

Little  did  I  care  for  her  words  then ;  but,  since  the 
day  I  came  home  and  found  her  mound  in  the  church- 
yard, never  do  I  hear  the  wind  whistling  through  the 

112 


THE     SAILOR-BOY. 


rigging  without  remembering  her  words  and  the  sad 
look  oi  her  dear  face.  '  * 

Well,  nothing  would  keep  me ;  and  I  took  to  haunt- 
ing the  docks  of  the  nearest  town,  where  many  ships 
came,  trying  to  make  friends  with  some  of  the  sailors, 
and  get  a  chance  to  go.  After  trying  this  for  a  year, 
and  not  succeeding  in  my  wish,  a  real  chance  came  in 
my  way.  I  was  one  day,  as  usual,  hanging  around  a 
ship,  looking  at  every  part  of  it.  The  men  were  busy 
loading  it  for  sea,  and  paid  no  attention  to  me ;  and, 
while  prying  around  I  came  upon  a  snug  little  corner 
behind  some  boxes. 

At  once  the  idea  came  into  my  mind,  "  Here  is  a 
good  place  to  hide  till  the  ship  sails,  and  then  they 
can't  send  me  back."  The  temptation  was  too  strong. 
I  tried  to  think  a  minute.  I  knew  the  ship  would  sail 
that  night  I  could  think  of  no  more.  I  slipped  into 
the  little  hiding-place,  with  no  thought  of  my  mother's 
grief ;  no  dread  of  the  fate  I  might  bring  on  myself ;  no 
idea  but  that  now  I  should  surely  sail,  that  my  life  of 
adventure  would  now  begin. 

Ah,  boy!  —  it's  hard  to  think  of  the  hopeful,  happy 
boy  I  was  when  I  stole  on  board  that  ship,  and  the 
changes  that  came  over  me  before  I  put  foot  on  shore 
again.  ,.* 

But  I  must  cut  my  story  short.  The  first  thing  I 
got  when  I  came  out  of  my  corner  the  next  day,  and 
tremblingly  told  my  story  to  the  rough,  brutal  captain, 


THE      SAILOR-BOY. 


was  what  he  called  "making  a  sailor  of  me."  That 
was  a  more  severe  thrashing  with  a  rope's  end  than  I 
ever  imagined  a  boy  could  have  and  live.  Bruised  and 
sore,  and  hungry  and  sick,  I  crawled  into  the  darkest 
hole  I  could  find  in  the  ship ;  and  I  think  I  would  have 
staid  there  and  starved,  if  I  had  not  been  ordered  out 
by  my  hard  master. 

If  we  had  been  near  shore,  I  should  never  have 
been  a  sailor ;  for  that  one  whipping  took  out  of  me 
any  wish  for  life  on  the  sea.  I  would  have  given  half 
my  life  to  have  gone  to  school  that  morning,  and  take 
up  life  on  shore  again.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  I  could 
not  go  back.  I  had  chosen  my  lot,  and  could  do  noth- 
ing but  bear  whatever  was  put  upon  me,  and  try  to 
endure,  for  a  long  voyage  of  many  months,  the  life  I 
had  wished  for  so  long. 

I  shall  not  tell  you  all  the  hard  times  I  had.  It  is 
enough  that  the  captain  was  a  cruel,  hard  man,  who 
took  delight  in  tormenting  me  because  I  had  forced 
myself  on  his  ship,  though  he  was  brutal  to  all  the 
sailors.  By  hard  knocks,  in  deadly  sea-sickness,  and 
worse  home-sickness,  I  learned  to  be  a  sailor ;  though  I 
meant  when  I  came  home  again  to  go  to  my  mother, 
get  work  on  shore,  and  live  to  be  a  help  and  comfort  if 
I  could.  With  this  hope  I  lived  through  my  long 
voyage ;  and,  when  the  ship  reached  her  dock,  I  was 
one  of  the  first  to  get  on  shore,  and  hurry  to  my  moth- 
er's cottage. 

114 


THE      SAILOR-BOY. 


Well,  well !  it's  many  years  ago :  but  yet  I  can't 
tell  you  how  I  felt  when  I  found  the  dear  old  roof 
sheltering  strangers  ;  when  I  learned  that  my  mother 
had  gone  broken-hearted  to  her  rest  a  few  months  after 
I  ran  away,  though  she  left  me  her  love  and  forgive- 
ness. 

I  threw  myself  on  her  grave,  and  felt  that  I  was 
now,  by  my  own  act,  alone  in  the  world.  The  last 
anchor  was  gone,  and  nothing  was  left  for  me  but  to 
drift  wherever  the  winds  and  waves  drove  me.  Life 
on  shore,  with  my  mother  gone,  seemed  intolerable  to 
me  then.  Besides,  the  neighbors,  who  knew  my  story, 
looked  coldly  on  me ,  and  I  knew  no  way  of  earning 
sixpence.  So  I  took  the  only  way  open  to  me,  and 
shipped  on  another  vessel. 

That's  long  ago,  as  I  said  ;  and  I  shall  never  be  any 
thing  but  a  sailor,  and  shall  find  my  grave  under  the 
green  waves  some  day :  but  never  for  an  hour  have  I 
ceased  to  repent  of  that  one  act  which  made  me  a 
sailor,  and  broke  my  mother's  heart. 


GOING     TO     SCHOOL. 


GOING  TO   SCHOOL. 

"  I  WISH,"  said  little  Susy,  "  I  just  wish, 
Whoever  made  up  spelling,  had  to  learn  it 

I  wish  I  was  a  sparrow  or  a  fish ; 

Then   they  might  take  my  spelling-book, 
and  burn  it. 


"  The    meadows    and    the   trees  are   just   as 

green ! 
The    little    birds    do    look    so    sweet    and 

cheery ! 
I  wish  I  might  be  treated  like  a  queen, 

And  not  have  any  lesson-books  come  near 
me. 


"  Why,  queens  have  just  the  elegantest  fun  ! 

Nobody  ever  makes  them  sew  or  study : 
They  just  pick  roses  all  day  in  the  sun  ; 

And  ain't  afraid,  I  guess,  of  anybody. 

116 


BUILDING     A     FORT. 


"  Oh,  my !   I'm  just  as  sure  as  sure  can  be 
I  sha'n't  know  more  than  half  of  that  old 
spelling ! 

I  wish  I  was  a  cricket  or  a  bee, 

And  never  had  to  study,  or  do  felling." 


BUILDING  A   FORT. 

DOWN  on  the  seashore  three  little  brothers  and 
their  sister  were  playing.  They  had  dug  holes  in  the 
sand,  they  had  picked  up  shells,  and  had  watched  the 
ships  and  the  fishing-boats ;  and  now  they  wanted 
something  fresh  to  do. 

"  Let  us  build  a  fort,"  said  Ambrose,  the  eldest  of 
them :  "  then  I  will  be  king  over  it,  and  Nigel  shall  be 
an  enemy  coming  to  take  it  from  me." 

Nigel,  who  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  boat  lying 
upon  the  beach,  waved  his  cap,  and  shouted  that  it 
would  be  good  fun  ;  and  Gyp,  a  sturdy  little  girl  with 
large  blue  eyes,  brought  a  -load  of  sand  in  her  pinafore, 
whilst  Walter  patted  it  down  to  make  it  as  hard  as  he 
could. 

"There  must  be  a  tower  in  the  middle,"  said  Am- 
brose, "  and  a  flag  on  the  top  of  it." 

"  But  we  have  not  got  a  flag,"  said  Walter. 

118 


BUILDING     A     FORT. 


"  I  have  a  long  stick,"  said  Ambrose,  "  and  I  can  tie 
Gyp's  blue  handkerchief  to  it :  that  will  make  a  splen- 
did flag." 

"And  if  I  can  carry  it  off,"  shouted  Nigel,  "  I  shall 
be  king  of  the  fort  1 " 

Then  he  jumped  down  from  the  boat,  and  ran  to 
help  with  the  building,  so  that  it  might  be  sooner 
finished. 

At  last  the  fort  was  built ;  and  there  was  the  tower, 
with  the  flag  upon  it,  and  a  wall  all  round ;  and  out- 
side stood  Ambrose  and  Walter  and  Gyp,  whilst  Nigel 
was  trying  to  dart  in  between  them  and  seize  the  flag. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  manage  to  do 
so ;  but,  Walter  having  turned  away  his  head  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  a  pretty  sailing-boat  quite  near  to 
the  shore,  Nigel  slipped  past,  and  mounted  the  tower. 

"  I  am  king  now  I  "  said  he,  waving  the  flag. 

So  Ambrose  was  the  enemy,  and  Nigel  was  king ; 
then  Walter ;  and  last  of  all  Gyp  said  she  wanted  to 
be  king  of  the  fort. 

"  But  girls  can't  be  kings,"  said  Ambrose. 

Gyp  does  not  care :  she  will  be  king,  and  have  the 
flag. 

And  so  Gyp  was  put  into  the  fort ;  and,  instead  of 
leaving  the  flag  on  the  tower,  she  held  it  fast  in  her 
hands  ;  and,  when  Walter  was  making  his  way  to  her, 
she  ran  away,  so  that  he  could  not  take  it.  * 

Walter  stumbled  over  one  of  the  sand  walls,  and 
119 


THE     KIND     NEIGHBOR. 


fell ;  but  he  did  not  hurt  himself,  as  the  sand  was  soft ; 
and  he  hastened  after  Gyp,  who  had  made  her  way  to 
nurse,  who  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  a  bathing- 
house. 

And  nurse  told  the  children  they  must  stay  with 
her,  and  watch  the  tide  coming  in. 

And  the  great  waves  came  rolling  along,  and  swept 
away  the  walls  of  the  fort,  and  then  the  tower,  until  at 
last  there  was  nothing  of  it  left. 


THE   KIND   NEIGHBOR. 

ONCE,  a  great,  great  many  years  ago,  in  the  far-oft 
country  of  Judaea,  a  man  set  out  on  a  journey.  Now, 
you  must  know,  when  people  took  journeys  in  those  old 
times,  they  could  not  go,  as  you  do  now,  in  great  puffing 
steamboats  or  railroad-cars.  They  had  to  travel  very* 
slowly  on  asses  or  mules ;  for  only  kings  and  great 
people  could  even  have  horses  and  carriages. 

So  this  man  mounted  his  ass,  and  set  out  to  travel 
from  the  great  city  of  Jerusalem  to  another  city  called 
Jericho.  The  road  between  these  two  cities  was  in  a 
wild  country.  There  were  no  houses  and  beautiful 
gardens  to  pass  by ;  but  some  very  bad  men  used  to 
bide  themselves  among  the  rocks  by  the  way,  and 
often  jumped  out  on  travellers  to  steal  their  mone} 
and  goods. 

120 


THE     KIND      NEIGHBOR. 


Our  traveller  had  not  gone  very  far  when  the 
wicked  thieves  came  upon  him  with  their  sharp  knives 
and  cruel  hearts.  They  took  all  his  money,  and  even 
stripped  off  his  clothes  to  divide  among  themselves. 
There  were  no  policemen  by,  and  no  one  to  help,  it 
the  poor  man  had  cried  ever  so  loud.  I  dare  say  he 
called,  as  we  would  do  if  some  one  were  almost  killing 
us.  But,  when  he  tried  to  keep  his  money  and  his 
clothes,  they  ran  their  sharp  knives  into  him  until  he 
was  half  dead.  Then  they  left  him  lying  weak  and 
bleeding  on  the  bare,  hard  ground. 

Now,  if  you  had  passed  fry,  —  even  such  a  little 
child  as  you,  —  you  would  have  stopped  to  speak  to 
this  poor  man  ;  wouldn't  you  ? 

Well,  after  a  while  a  priest  came  by.  He  was 
dressed  in  long  clothes  with  great  wide  borders ;  and 
he  thought,  I  suppose,  that  he  was  a  very  good  man. 
He  should  have  been,  because  he  had  to  teach  other 
people  what  was  right ;  but  he  walked  right  by  the 
poor  traveller.  He  even  kept  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  and  wouldn't  come  near  him.  Perhaps  he 
thought  the  sight  of  blood  would  make  him  sick,  or 
perhaps  he  was  afraid  of  soiling  his  long  robes. 

A  little  while  after,  some  one  else  went  by.  I  dare 
say  his  neighbors  thought  him  a  real  good  man. 

"Now,"  thought  the  sick  man,  if  he  could  think  at 
all,  "  here  is  some  one  who  will  help  me." 

Oh,    no !      This    man,  who   was    called    a    Levite. 

122 


THE     KIND     NEIGHBOR. 


"  looked  on "  the  wounded  traveller ;  maybe  he  felt 
sorry  for  him :  but  he  too,  like  the  priest,  "  passed  by 
on  the  other  side."  Perhaps  he  thought  it  was  no 
business  of  his,  and  no  one  was  there  to  know  if  he 
was  kind  or  not.  » 

But  there  was  one  who  saw  all  he  did ;  for  God  is 
everywhere. 

While  the  poor  man  was  lying  faint  and  weak, 
thinking  he  should  die,  God  made  another  man  pass 
by,  riding  on  an  ass.  A  dear,  kind-hearted  man  he 
was,  although  the  sick  man  looked  upon  him  as  an 
enemy. 

He  got  down  straight  from  his  ass,  because  he  felt 
so  sorry  even  for  his  enemy  who  was  so  badly  hurt. 
He  bound  up  the  sick  man's  wounds,  and  poured  oil 
and  wine  into  them  to  make  them  well.  Then  he  put 
this  man  who  had  never  loved  him  on  his  own  ass, 
and  took  him  to  an  inn,  and  paid  the  innkeeper  for 
taking  care  of  him.  He  told  the  innkeeper  too,  that, 
if  he  spent  any  more,  the  next  time  he  came  he  would 
pay  it  to  him  again. 

Now,  don't  you  think  the  sick  man  was  sorry  that 
he  had  ever  hated  such  a  kind  friend  ?  and  don't  you 
think  the  truest  way  to  conquer  those  who  hate  us  is 
to  "  love  them,"  as  the  Lord  has  told  us  to  do  ? 


123 


THE     FATE     OF     FIVE     LITTLE     KITTENS. 


THE  FATE  OF  FIVE  LITTLE  KITTENS. 

OLD  TABBY  had  five  dear  little  babies,  and  she  put 
them  to  bed  in  Grandma  Grey's  mending-basket. 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  said  grandma,  "  what  a  silly  old 
thing !  Now  it  will  never  be  good  for  any  thing  again, 
and  we  must  drown  the  kittens  to-morrow." 

But  Tabby  liked  the  basket  very  much,  and  kind- 
hearted  little  Mabel  brought  her  some  hay  to  make  her 
bed  feel  softer.  Tabby  sang  her  babies  to  sleep  with  a 
soft  little  purring  song,  and  cuddled  them  all  five  close 
to  her  furry  sides.  She  was  very  happy  until  she 
remembered  the  time  when  she  had  five  little  babies 
before,  and  every  single  one  of  them  had  been  carried 
off.  She  rather  thought  they  had  come  to  harm ;  but 
they  shut  her  in  a  dark  closet,  and  she  couldn't  follow 
to  find  out. 

She  twiddled  her  whiskers,  and  rubbed  her  eyes ; 
and  then  she  said  to  those  five  little  kittens  in  grand- 
ma's basket,  "My  dear  little  pets,  I'm  very  much 
afraid  I  can't  keep  you  —  meow !  Something  dreadful 
will  happen,  I  know  —  meow !  " 

But  the  kittens  snored  away,  and  never  minded  her. 
They  were  blind,  you  see,  and  knew  nothing  about  the 
great  world  outside. 

124 


THE     FATE     OF     FIVE     LITTLE     KITTENS. 

All  this  while,  Mabel  and  Kate  were  up  in  the  sitting- 
room,  coaxing  grandma  to  save  all  the  kittens  alive. 

"  They  won't  do  a  bit  of  harm,"  said  Mabel,  "  only 
maybe  eat  a  little  milk." 

"  And  they're  so  sweet  and  cunning !  "  chimed  in 
little  Kate. 

"You  can  only  have  two  of  them,  dearies,"  said 
grandma,  —  "  only  just  two.  And  it's  very  good  of  rne 
to  let  you  have  those ;  for,  what  with  scratched  fingers 
and  torn  dresses,  I  could  really  wish  every  kitten  in  the 
old  millpond." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  sighed  Mabel ;  and  "  Oh,  dear  1 "  sighed 
little  Kate. 

"  Now  run  away  and  pick  out  the  two  you  will 
have,"  said  Grandma  Grey ;  "  for  the  others  must  be 
drowned  to-night." 

How  hard  it  was  to  choose,  and  to  think  that  the 
other  three  which  were  not  chosen  would  have  to  die  1 
The  tears  stood  in  little  Mabel's  eyes,  and  in  old 
Tabby's  too. 

"  Dear  me !  "  thought  Mabel  as  they  trudged  off  up 
stairs  to  tie  ribbons  around  the  necks  of  their  own  two 
little  kittens,  "  I  don't  believe  grandma  cares  what 
becomes  of  the  other  three,  so  long  as  we  don't  keep 
'em.  I'll  just  carry  'em  down  to  the  barn-yard,  and  let 
'em  run.  I  guess  they'll  run  away." 

So  she  left  her  own  little  kitten  with  Kate,  and 
carried  the  three  others  off  in  her  apron. 

126 


THE     FATE     OF     FIVE     LITTLE     KITTENS. 

But  who  do  you  think  walked  behind  on  her  tipsie- 
toes?  Why,  old  Tabby  herself!  Don't  you  suppose 
she  wanted  to  know  what  became  of  her  three  little 
babies?  When  she  saw  Mabel  put  them  on  the 
ground,  and  clap  her  hands  and  cry  "  Shoo  "  at  them, 
Tabby  purred  for  joy. 

Then,  when  Mabel  had  danced  away,  Tabby  settled 
this  part  of  her  family  snugly  in  the  hay-loft,  gave 
them  their  dinner,  and  went  back  to  the  house  for  her 
own. 

When  grandma   looked   for  the   kittens,  after  the 
children  were  in  bed,  there  were  only  two  of  them  left. 
•""Well,  well!"   she   said;    "that    sly   old   cat   has 
hidden  the  other  three ! " 

And  she  said  nothing  to  the  children,  but  looked 
around  in  all  the  market-baskets  and  feather-beds  in 
the  house.  No  kittens  appeared. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  grandma  at  last ;  "  let  them  go." 

But  about  two  weeks  after,  one  fine  morning,  Tabby 
walked  in  with  a  kitten  in  her  mouth,  and  laid  it  down 
at  grandma's  feet. 

"  Why,  that  must  be  little  Kate's ! "  said  grandma. 
"Has  she  hurt  it,  Tabby?" 

Grandma  picked  up  the  little  thing,  smoothed  it, 
and  laid  it  down  again. 

Five  minutes  after,  in  walked  the  little  mother  with 
another  baby.  "  Why,  there's  a  black  kitten ! "  cried 
grandma,  starting  up  from  her  chair. 

127 


TIDE-MARKS. 


"Why,  grandma,"  said  Mabel,  "I  shoo'ed  those 
kittens  away  ever  so  long  ago." 

She  told  grandma  all  about  it ;  and  the  dear  old 
lady  couldn't  help  laughing. 

"  Now  I  suppose  the  things  will  have  to  live,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  please,  please,  grandma !  "  cried  the  little  girls. 

"  But,"  said  she,  trying  to  be  very  cross  and  cruel, 
"  if  I  ever  find  another  set  of  kittens,  every  one  must 
go  to  the  millpond,  remember." 


TIDE-MARKS. 

IT  was  low  tide  when  we  went  to  Bristol,  and  the 
great  gray  rocks  stood  up  bare  and  grim  above  the 
water ;  but  high  up  on  all  their  sides  was  a  black  line 
that  seemed  hardly  dry,  though  it  was  far  above  the 
water. 

"  What  makes  that  black  mark  on  the  rock  ?  "  I 
asked  my  friend. 

"  Oh !  that  is  the  tide-mark,"  she  replied.  "  Every 
day,  when  the  tide  comes  in,  the  water  rises  until  it 
reaches  that  line ;  and  in  a  great  many  years  it  has 
worn  the  stone  until  the  mark  is  cut  in  the  rock." 

"  Oh  !  "  thought  I,  "  that  is  all,  is  it?  Well,  I  have 
seen  a  great  many  people  that  carry  tide-marks  on  their 

128 


TIDE-MARKS. 


faces."  Right  in  front  of  me  was  a  pretty  little  girl, 
with  delicate  features  and  pleasant  blue  eyes.  But  she 
had  some  queer  little  marks  on  her  forehead,  and  I 
wondered  how  they  came  to  be  there ;  until  presently 
her  mother  said,  — 

"  Draw  down  the  blind  now,  Carrie  :  the  sun  shines 
right  in  baby's  face." 

"  I  want  to  look  out,"  said  Carrie  in  a  very  peevish 
voice. 

But  her  mother  insisted ;  and  Carrie  drew  the  blind, 
and  turned  her  face  away  from  the  window.  Oh,  dear 
me !  what  a  face  it  was  !  The  blue  eyes  were  full  of 
frowns,  instead  of  smiles  ;  the  pleasant  lips  were  drawn 
up  in  an  ugly  pout ;  and  the  queer  marks  on  her  fore- 
head had  deepened  into  actual  wrinkles. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  I  thought.  "  How  badly  you 
will  feel,  when  you  grow  up,  to  have  your  face  marked 
all  over  with  the  tide-marks  of  passion  !  for  these  ugly 
ill  tempers  leave  their  marks  just  as  surely  as  the 
ocean  does  ;  and  I  have  seen  many  a  face  stamped  so 
deeply  with  self-will  and  covetousness,  that  it  must 
carry  the  marks  to  the  grave." 

Take  care,  my  little  folks  ;  and,  whenever  you  give 
way  to  bad  temper,  remember  the  tide-marks. 


129 


BOY    WHO     TOOK     CARE     OF     HIS     GRANDMOTHER. 


THE  BOY  WHO  TOOK  CAKE  OF  HIS 
GRANDMOTHER 

THERE  was  never  a  better  boy  than  little  Victor. 
He  and  his  grandmother  lived  alone  in  a  queer  little 
brown  cottage  in  the  edge  of  the  woods ;  and  he  was 
such  a  comfort  and  help  to  the  good  old  grandmother 
that  she  never  missed  any  other  happiness  in  life, 
though  she  was  old  and  feeble  and  very  poor. 

Every  day  the  two  strange  companions  would  go 
into  the  woods  together,  and  gather  a  great  bundle  of 
fagots  which  the  wind  had  broken  off  from  the  trees ; 
and  then  the  grandmother  would  take  the  big  bundle 
on  her  back,  and  the  two  would  trudge  homeward. 
Then  they  would  make  up  a  big  snapping  fire  of  the 
nice  dry  sticks,  and  cook  their  humble  supper  of  cakes 
of  coarse  meal  baked  on  the  hearth  before  the  coals. 

Little  Victor  was  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and 
never  thought  his  lot  was  hard.  The  grandmother 
was  lovingly  good  to  him.  The  cakes  tasted  delicious, 
though  coarse.  The  air  was  spicy  and  fresh  ;  and  the 
woods  —  oh,  the  woods  were  full  of  sweet  and  delight- 
ful things !  He  enjoyed  them  a  thousand  times  more 
than  the  proud  owner,  whc  rode  through  them  now 
and  then  with  a  great  party  of  men  and  horses  and 

130 


BOY    WHO     TOOK     CARE     OF     HIS     GRANDMOTHER. 

a  pack  of  yelling  dogs,  and  never  stopped  to  feel  the 
sweet  delicious  breath  of  the  trees,  or  the  cool  shade 
or  the  lonely  mysterious  silence  of  its  depths. 

Victor  could  never  remember  any  one  but  his 
grandmother  ;  but  she  told  him  long  stories,  sometimes 
in  the  winter  evenings,  of  his  father,  who  had  gone  far, 
far  away,  to  a  strange  new  country  called  America,  to 
make  a  home  for  them,  and  who  was  coming  back 
some  wonderful  day  to  get  them  both.  But  months 
had  gone  by  since  she  had  heard  from  him ;  and 
though  she  was  sure  he  would  come  as  he  said,  yet 
the  poor  old  grandmother  would  sigh  when  she  told 
the  story. 

Victor  never  thought  much  about  all  that.  He 
was  more  interested  in  the  sparkle  of  the  dry  fagots 
in  the  fire,  the  beautiful  browning  of  the  cakes  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  antics  of  his  dear  puss.  And  then  he 
would  coax  his  grandmother  to  tell  him  a  fairy-story ; 
and  she  would  get  out  her  knitting,  and  sit  in  her  low 
arm-chair  by  the  fire ;  and  Victor  would  lie  full  length 
on  the  floor  and  watch  the  fire,  and  listen  while  she 
told  him  of  the  woes  and  troubles  o/  fairy  princesses 
and  odd  little  goblins,  till  she  forgot  about  his  father 
who  didn't  come  home,  and  her  rheumatic  old  bones; 
and  her  needles  would  fly,  and  her  tongue  run  on,  till 
the  fire  was  burned  to  ashes,  and  it  was  time  to  creep 
into  bed. 

Rut  as  winter  came  on,  and  the  cold  winds  stole 
732 


BOY    WHO     TOOK     CARE     OF     HIS     GRANDMOTHER. 

through  the  cracks,  the  poor  old  grandmother  grew 
very  ill.  She  had  to  stay  in  her  bed,  and  little  Victor 
had  no  one  to  do  any  thing  for  him.  That  didn't 
trouble  him,  though  ;  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  never  thought 
of  pouting  and  crying  as  some  children  I  have  heard 
of  would  have  done.  No,  indeed!  He  just  went  to 
work  to  take  care  of  her. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  big  enough,"  said  he,  as  he  took 
his  fagot-rope  and  his  hat,  and  started  for  the  woods. 
"  I'll  take  the  bucket  too,"  he  thought,  as  he  saw  it 
hanging  outside  the  door.  "  Maybe  some  nuts  fell 
down  last  night ;  and  wouldn't  grandmother  be  sur 
prised  if  I  brought  home  some  to  roast  for  supper ! " 

Shutting  the  door  carefully  after  him,  he  started 
bravely  off  for  the  woods  alone.  It  took  him  a  long 
time  to  gather  fagots  enough  to  make  a  bundle  as 
big  as  his  grandmother's  ;  for  he  was  determined  tcr 
show  her  that  he  was  almost  a  man,  and  could  carry 
very  big  loads. 

After  he  had  a  nice  big  bundle  all  tied  up,  he  went 
to  the  old  chestnut-tree,  that  was  hanging  full  of  the 
prickly  burrs.  Eagerly  he  examined  the  ground.  Yes 
Jack  Frost  had  been  there  in  the  n^ht,  as  he  hoped, 
and  had  opened  the  burrs,  and  thrown  down  lots  of 
glossy  brown  nuts. 

In  a  moment  Victor  forgot  that  he  was  tired,  and 
fell  to  gathering  nuts.  A  long  time  he  worked  till  he 
had  as  many  as  he  could  carry ;  and  then  he  took  his 

133 


BOY    WHO     TOOK     CARE     OF     HIS     GRANDMOTHER. 

bundle  on  his  back,  and  his  bucket  in  the  other  hand 
and  started  off  for  home. 

He  only  stopped  once,  to  pick  up  a  bright  feather 
which  some  bird  had  lost  in  the  woods,  and  put  it  in 
his  hat,  before  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where 
hs  could  see  the  cottage.  There  he  sat  down  on  a  rock 
to  rest,  and  enjoy  the  sweet  wild  air. 

"  Dear  old  grandmother !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  how 
glad  she  will  be  to  see  such  a  big  pile  of  sticks,  and 
so  many  nuts  !  She'll  know  then  that  I  can  take  care 
of  her  ;  and  she'll  never  cry  when  she  is  too  sick  to  go 
out,  for  fear  we  shall  starve  and  freeze.  No,  indeed  \ 
I  mean  to  take  care  of  her  always,  and  never  let  her 
carry  fagots  again  :  she's  too  old.  I  shall  soon  be 
a  big  man,  and  I  shall  work  and  get  every  thing  she 
wants." 

The  grandmother  was  pleased,  as  he  thought  she 
would  be ;  but  she  could  not  eat  any  of  the  nuts,  though 
he  roasted  them  beautifully.  Nor  could  she  eat  any  of 
the  meal-cakes  which  he  mixed  and  baked  so  nicely 
for  her.  The  next  day  she  was  worse,  and  talked  queer 
and  wild,  and  sometimes  did  not  know  him  ;  and  Victor 
got  quite  frightened,  she  acted  so  strangely. 

But  he  did  not  neglect  his  duty,  for  all  that:  he 
bravely  went  into  the  woods,  and  brought  home  his 
bundle  of  sticks.  That  night,  after  he  had  eaten  his 
supper,  she  seemed  like  herself,  only  very  weak ;  and 
she  talked  to  him  about  his  father.  She  told  him  she 

134 


BOY    WHO     TOOK     CARE     OF     HIS     GRANDMOTHER 

thought  she  was  going  to  die,  and  he  must  go  himself 
to  America  to  find  his  father.  She  made  him  open  her 
chest,  and  take  out  some  letters ;  and  she  told  him  the 
name  of  the  place  where  his  father  was ;  and  she  told 
him  where  she  had  put  away  a  little  money  for  him. 
She  told  him  whom  to  gc  to  in  the  village,  and  how 
to  do,  when  she  should  be  in  heaven  ;  and  her  only 
sorrow  seemed  to  be,  to  leave  her  little  boy  alone  in 
the  world. 

But  that  sad  thing  was  not  to  be.  The  very  next 
morning,  a  wonderful  thing  happened.  It  seemed  just 
like  the  fairy-stories  she  had  so  many  times  told  him, 
where  the  needed  person  comes  in  just  at  the  moment 
when  he  is  wanted.  The  next  morning  he  was  wa- 
kened by  a  noise  at  the  door,  and  his  grandmother  tell- 
ing him  to  see  who  was  there.  When  he  opened  the 
clumsy  latch,  who  should  stand  there  but  a  big  brown- 
faced  man,  with  long  whiskers,  and  strange-looking 
clothes!  —  and  his  grandmother  gave  one  look,  threw 
up  her  arms,  and  cried  faintly,  — 

"  My  son  !     O  Victor !  " 

And  the  big  man  sprang  in,  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms  ;^  and  for  a  few  moments  there  was  nothing  in  the 
house  but  hugging  and  kissing  and  crying  ind  laugh- 
ing, all  mixed  up  so,  that  little  Victor  never  could 

remember  much  about  it.  . 

• 

Only,  at  last,  he  found  himself  hugged  very  closely 
in  the  arms  of  the  stranger,  saw  the  happy  look  n  his 


MY     SQUIRREL. 


grandmother's  face,  and  knew  that  he  had  found  his 
father. 

I  haven't  room  to  tell  you  more  about  his  life, — 
how  that,  when  they  had  laid  the  dear  old  grandmother 
softly  to  sleep  among  the  daisies,  his  father  took  him  a 
long  voyage  to  America,  where  he  had  a  nice  farm, 
and  where  Victor  found  a  new,  sweet-faced  mother,  and 
a  baby  sister,  to  make  him  happy ;  nor  about  his 
going  to  school,  and  growing  up  to  be  a  good  and 
useful  man.  But  one  thing  I  can  tell  you :  he  never 
forgot  those  happy  days  in  the  dear  little  cottage  in  the 
woods,  where  he  took  care  of  his  grandmother. 


MY  SQUIRREL. 

I  HAD  a  little  squirry : 

His  step  was  quick  and  light, 
His  tail  was  long  and  furry, 

And  his  eyes  were  large  and  bright 

He'd  burrow  in  my  cowers, 
Where  almonds  were,  and  dates ; 

He'd  pull  to  rags  the  flowers ; 
He'd  jump  upon  the  plates. 
136 


M\      SQUIRREL. 


A  bunch  of  cowslips  yellow 
To  him  was  matchless  fun ; 

But,  oh  the  greedy  fellow ! 
He  ate  them  every  one. 


He  built  his  nest  aloft  there, 

Behind  a  barricade ; 
And  none  can  tell  how  soft  there 

His  little  crib  he  made  ; 

137 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 

LIVE  high  up  in  a  city  house  all  alone.  My 
room  is  a  cosey  little  place,  though  there  is 
nothing  very  splendid  in  it, — only  my  pic- 
Ptures  and  books,  my  flowers,  and  my  little 
friend.  When  I  began  to  live  there,  I  was 
very  busy  and  therefore  very  happy;  but 
by  and  by,  when  I  had  more  time  to  myself, 
I  often  felt  lonely.  When  I  ate  my  meals  I  used  to 
wish  for  a  pleasant  companion  to  eat  with  me;  and 
when  I  sat  by  the  fire  evenings,  I  thought  how  much 
more  social  it  would  be  if  some  one  sat  opposite. 

I  was  wishing  for  a  cheerful  friend  one  night,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  I  found  one;  for,  sitting  on  my  hand,, 

138 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 


I  saw  a  plump,  jolly-looking  fly.  He  sat  quietly  star- 
ing at  me,  with  a  mild  little  hum,  as  if  to  say, — 

"How  are  you?  You  wanted  a  friend,  and  here  I 
am.  Will  you  have  me?" 

Of  course  I  would,  for  I  liked  him  directly,  he  was 
so  cheery  and  confiding,  and  seemed  as  glad  to  see  me 
as  I  was  to  see  him.  I  waggled  one  finger,  by  way  of 
welcome,  fearing  to  shake  my  hand,  lest  he  should 
tumble  off  and  feel  hurt  at  my  reception.  He  seemed 
to  understand  me,  and  buzzed  again  evidently  saying, 

"Thank  you,  ma'am;  I  should  Hks  to  stay  in  your 
warm  room,  and  amuse  you  for  nr  board.  I  won't 
disturb  you,  but  do  my  best  to  fc  Oood  little  friend." 

So  the  bargain  was  struck,  an-:t  he  stopped  to  tea. 
I  found  that  his  manners  had  been  neglected;  for  he 
was  inclined  to  walk  over  the  butter,  drink  out  of  the 
cream  pot,  and  put  his  fingers  in  the  jelly.  A  few 
taps  with  my  spoon  taught  him  to  behave  with  more 
propriety,  and  he  sipped  a  drop  of  milk  from  the  wai- 
ter with  a  crumb  of  sugar,  as  a  well-bred  fly  should  do. 

On  account  of  his  fine  voice,  I  named  him 
Buzz.  He  seemed  to  like  his  new  quarters,  and  after 
exploring  every  corner  of  the  room,  he  chose  his  favor- 
ite haunts  and  began  to  enjoy  himself.  I  always  knew 
where  he  was,  for  he  kept  up  a  constant  song,  hum- 
ming and  buzzing,  like  a  little  kettle  getting  ready  to 
boil. 

On  sunny  days,  he  amused  himself  by  bumping 

139 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 


his  head  against  the  window,  and  watching  what  went 
on  outside.  Up  in  my  hanging  basket  of  ivy  he  made 
his  bower,  and  sat  there  on  the  moss,  basking  in  the 
sunshine,  as  luxuriously  as  any  gentleman  in  his  con- 
servatory. He  was  interested  in  the  plants,  and  exam- 
ined them  daily  with  great  care. 

The  pictures  also,  seemed  to  attract  his  attention, 
for  he  spent  much  time  skating  over  the  glasses  and 
studying  the  designs.  Then  he'd  sit  in  the  middle  of 
a  brook,  as  if  bathing  his  feet.  He  frequently  kissed 
my  mother's  portrait,  and  sat  on  my  father's  bald  head, 
as  if  trying  to  g  ;t  out  some  of  the  wisdom  stored  up 
there,  like  hone)  .T  an  ill-thatched  bee-hive. 

I'm  afraid  he  w^b  a  trifle  vain,  for  he  sat  before  the 
glass  a  great  deal,  and  I  often  saw  him  cleaning  his 
proboscis,  and  twiddling  his  feelers,  and  I  know  he 
was  "  prinking,"  as  we  say.  The  books  pleased  him, 
too,  and  he  used  to  run  them  over,  as  if  trying  to 
choose  which  he  would  read,  and  never  seemed  able 
to  decide. 

He  frequently  promenaded  on  the  piazza  of  a  little 
Swiss  chalet,  standing  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  thought 
it  a  charming  .residence  for  a  single  gentleman  like 
himself.  The  closet  delighted  him  extremely,  and  he 
buzzed  in  the  most  joyful  manner  when  he  got  among 
the  provisions, — for  we  kept  house  together.  Such 
revels  as  he  had  in  the  sugar  bowl !  such  feasts  of 
gingerbread  and  grapes;  such  long  sips  of  milk,  and 

140 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 


sly  peeps  into  every  uncovered  box  and  dish.  But  his 
favorite  nook  was  among  the  ferns  in  the  vase  which 
a  Parian  dancing  girl  carried.  She  stood  just  over 
the  stove,  on  one  little  toe,  rattling  some  castanets, 
which  made  no  sound,  and  never  getting  a  step  farther 
for  all  her  prancing.  This  was  a  warm  and  pretty  re- 
treat for  Buzz,  and  there  he  spent  much  of  his  time, 
swinging  on  the  ferns,  sleeping  snugly  in  the  vase,  or 
warming  his  feet  in  the  hot  air  that  blew  up,  like  a 
south  wind  from  the  stove. 

I  don't  believe  there  was  a  happier  fly  in  Boston 
than  my  friend  Buzz,  and  I  grew  fonder  and  fonder  of 
him  every  day.  Then  he  was  so  interested  in  all  I 
did,  it  was  delightful  to  have  him  round.  When  I 
wrote  he  came  and  walked  about  over  my  paper  to  see 
that  it  was  right,  peeped  into  my  inkstand,  and  ran 
after  my  pen.  He  never  made  silly  or  sharp  criticisms 
on  my  stories,  but  appeared  to  admire  them  very  much; 
so  I  am  sure  he  was  a  good  judge. 

Well,  little  Buzz  and  I  lived  together  many  weeks 
and  never  got  tired  of  one  another,  which  is  saying  a 
good  deal.  At  Christmas  I  went  home  for  a  week, 
and  left  my  room  to  take  care  of  itself.  I  put  the  hy- 
acinths into  the  closet  to  be  warm,  and  dropped  the 
curtain,  so  the  frost  should  not  nip  my  ivy;  but  I  for- 
got Buzz.  I  really  would  have  taken  him  with  me,  or 
carried  him  down  to  a  neighbor's  room  to  be  taken 
care  of  while  I  was  away,  but  I  never  thought  of  him 

141 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 


in  the  hurry  of  getting  my  presents  and  myself  ready. 
Off  I  went  without  even  saying  "good-bye,"  and  never 
thought  of  my  little  friend,  till  Freddy,  my  small 
nephew,  said  to  me  one  evening  at  dusk,— 

"Aunt  Weedy,  tell  me  a  story." 

So  I  began  to  tell  him  about  Buzz,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  I  cried  out,— 

"Mercy  on  me!  I'm  afraid  he'll  die  of  cold  while 
I'm  gone." 

It  troubled  me  a  good  deal,  and  I  wanted  to  know 
how  the  poor  little  fellow  was  so  much,  that  I  would 
have  gone  to  see,  if  I  had  not  been  so  far  away.  But 
it  would  be  rather  silly  to  hurry  away  twenty  miles  to 
look  after  one  fly:  so  I  finished  my  visit,  and  then 
went  back  to  my  room,  hoping  to  find  Buzz  alive  and 
well  in  spite  of  the  cold. 

Alas,  no!  my  little  friend  was  gone.  There  he  lay 
on  his  back  on  the  mantel-piece,  his  legs  meekly  folded, 
and  his  wings  stiff  and  still.  My  poor  little  Buzz  had 
sung  his  last  song,  danced  his  last  dance,  and  gone 
where  the  good  flies  go.  I  was  very  sorry,  and  buried 
him  among  the  ivy  roots,  where  the  moss  lay  green 
above  him,  the  sun  shone  warmly  on  him,  and  the  bit- 
ter cold  could  never  come. 

L.  M.  ALCOTT. 


THEY  are  idols  of  hearts  and  of  households, 
They  are  angels  of  God  in  disguise; 
His  sunlight  still  sleeps  in  their  tresses, 
His  glory  still  gleams  in  their  eyes. 

Charles  M.  Dickenson, 


WiH  Howsrs. 


GREEDY     BIRD     THAT     WANTED     TO     EAT     A     BOY. 


THE  'GREEDY  BIRD  THAT  WANTED  TO 
EAT  A  BOY. 

IN  the  best  room  of  a  low-roofed  cottage  that  I 
know  of,  away  up  among  the  mountain-tops,  is  a  beau- 
tiful object  that  would  be  the  pride  of  a  much  larger 
and  grander  house.  But  there's  a  story  connected  with 
it,  and  no  money  could  buy  it  from  its  owner.  Many 
a  tempting  sum  has  been  offered  him  for  his  treasure ; 
but  although  his  house  lacks  many  luxuries,  and  is  a 
bare  place  enough,  he  always  refuses,  and  tells  the 
wondering  traveller  this  story. 

He  had  a  son  who  was  but  a  small  boy  when  he 
began  to  notice  a  pair  of  great  eagles  that  had  their 
home  among  the  rocks  of  one  of  the  mountain-tops 
near  his  father's  house.  Many  a  time  did  he  watch 
their  long  and  splendid  flight,  as  the  father  and  mother 
bird  would  go  out  in  search  of  food  for  their  hungry 
family  of  eaglets. 

It  was  almost  the  only  life  that  the  boy  saw  about 
him ; .  and  he  watched  them  so  much,  that  he  felt  quite 
well  acquainted  with  them.  And  there  grew  in  him 
a  great  longing  to  see  their  home  and  their  little  ones  ; 
and  he  often  lay  for  hours  on  a  hard  rock,  looking  at 
them,  and  laying  plans  for  climbing  to  their  nest,  and 
getting  nearer  to  them. 

145 


GREEDY  BIRD   THAT  WANTED  TC  EAT  A  BO* 

But  a  time  came  when  he  was  a  little  nearer  than 
he  cared  to  be.  It  was  a  warm  summer  day ;  and  his 
father  and  mother  had  gone  down  the  mountain  to  the 
little  town  at  its  foot,  where  they  bought  the  few 
articles  of  clothing  necessary  for  the  small  family  of 
three.  The  boy  lay  on  the  rock  as  usual,  watching  the 
two  grand  old  birds  circling  around  in  search  of  some- 
thing to  carry  home  to  fill  the  hungry  mouths  waiting 
for  them ;  when  suddenly  the  larger  of  the  two  began 
to  make  circles  around  him,  and  seemed  to  fix  his  eyes 
on  him. 

Whether  he  mistook  him  for  a  new  kind  of  animal 
which  might  be  good  to  eat,  or  whether  he  resented 
being  so  closely  watched,  I  don't  know ;  but  while  the 
boy  lay  watching  him,  as  his  circles  grew  smaller  and 
smaller,  he  suddenly  made  a  dive,  and  came  directly 
towards  him.  Even  then  the  boy  never  thought  of 
being  afraid  of  him  till  he  came  so  near  as  to  show 
his  dreadful  claws,  quite  strong  enough  to  carry  off  a 
boy,  his  fierce  beak  wide  open  as  though  to  tear  him  to 
pieces,  and  his  wild  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 

Then  a  sudden  fear  seized  him,  and  he  threw  up 
his  arms  to  frighten  the  bird  off.  But  the  great  crea- 
ture pounced  directly  upon  his  breast ;  and  the  boy 
thought  that  moment  was  his  last.  A  deadly  sickness 
came  over  him,  and  his  eyes  closed.  Just  at  that 
moment  a  shot  rang  upon  the  clear  air,  and  the  eagle 
fell  instantly  dead. 

146 


GREEDY     BIRD     THAT     WANTED     TO     EAT     A     BOY. 

But  the  boy  knew  nothing  of  it :  he  was  in  a  faint. 
He  saw  not  the  man  who  ran  hastily  up  to  see  if  he 
was  alive.  He  knew  nothing  of  being  carried  in  the 
stranger's  arms  to  his  father's  house  and  laid  upon  the 
bed.  When  he  did  open  his  eyes,  they  rested  on  an 
unknown  face  which  was  bending  anxiously  over  him. 

Of  course,  as  he  was  not  hurt,  he  was  soon  well ; 
and  he  and  the  stranger  who  had  saved  his  life  went 
out  to  look  at  the  dead  bird.  It  was  a  magnificent 
creature,  one  of  the  largest  of  its  kind,  and  had,  no 
doubt,  carried  off  many  a  sheep  and  goat  in  its  day. 

When  the  boy's  parents  came  home,  they  heard  the 
strange  story,  —  how  the  strange  gentleman,  who  was 
a  naturalist,  —  that  is,  one  who  spends  his  life  studying 
the  ways  of  birds  and  animals,  —  happened  to  notice 
the  swoop  of  the  eagle,  and,  wondering  what  he  was 
after,  had  hurried  nearer,  and,  just  at  the  moment  he 
reached  the  boy,  had  raised  his  ready  gun,  and  shot 
him  dead  fortunately  at  the  first  shot,  or  he  might  have 
done  serious  injury. 

The  grateful  parents  could  not  do  enough  for  the 
man ;  and  he  finally  spent  tht  whole  summer  at  the 
cottage,  hunting  birds  and  finding  out  their  ways,  and 
going  off  on  long  excursions  among  the  mountains. 
The  boy  always  followed  him,  anxious  to  do  something 
for  him,  and  eager  to  learn  what  the  good  naturalist 
loved  to  teach. 

The  first  thing  he  learned  was  to  preserve  and  stuff 
148 


GREEDY     BIRD     THAT     WANTED     TO     EAT     A      BOY. 

the  eagle  which  had  so  nearly  killed  him ;  and  it  is  the 
stuffed  bird,  mounted  on  a  tree-branch  over  the  rude 
mantle  of  the  cottage,  that  is  the  treasure  I  spoke  of. 

But  he  taught  him  many  other  things  also,  —  how 
to  watch  the  shy  wild  creatures,  see  how  they  live,  and 
what  they  do ;  and  how  to  make  his  knowledge  useful. 
In  the  evenings  he  taught  him  to  read ;  and  when 
winter  came,  and  there  was  no  more  work  to  do  out 
of  doors,  and  the  father  brought  out  his  carving-tools, 
and  went  to  his  winter's  work  of  cutting  toys  out  of 
wood,  which  he  sold  in  the  village  for  meal,  the  natu- 
ralist persuaded  him  to  let  the  boy  go  every  day  to  the 
village  to  school. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  for  the  boy. 
He  grew  fond  of  books,  «and  spent  all  his  days  study- 
ing. When  he  was  older,  he  went  to  the  town  to  live ; 
and  now,  when  he  is  about  thirty  years  old,  he  is  quite 
well  known  in  his  native  country  as  a  naturalist,  and  a 
writer  of  books. 

The  old  father  is  very  proud  of  his  learned  son  ; 
.and  that  is  why  he  will  never  part  with  .the  old  stuffed 
-eagle.  He  loves  to  remember  the  good  fortune  that 
the  greedy  bird,  who  wanted  a  boy  to  eat,  brought  to 
the  boy  he  selected. 


149 


WASHED     ASHORE. 


WASHED   ASHORE. 

IT  was  a  bright  sunshiny  day  in  June ;  and  on  the 
pebbly  beach  of  the  South  Bay  was  a  merry  group  of 
busy  children,  who  had  been  kept  in  doors  by  the  equi- 
noctial storms  which  had  raged  for  a  week  or  more, 
when  their  attention  was  drawn  to  the  farthermost  end 
of  the  cliff,  where  were  strewed  broken  spars  and  masts, 
which  gave  sad  evidence  of  the  violence  of  the  recent 
gales  that  had  visited  the  coast.  Their  boisterous  play 
was  suddenly  hushed  as  they  spied  among  the  scattered 
relics  of  the  ^rcck  a  large  chest ;  and  curiosity  took 
possession  of  their  little  minds  as  they  examined  the 
battered  trunk  which  lay  on  the  shore. 

"O  Willie!  suppose  there  should  be  a  lot  of 
money  and  diamonds  and  pretty  things  inside  of  that 
old  box !  I  wonder  where  it  came  from,"  said  Mattie, 
a  lively  little  lass  of  ten  years. 

"  Well,  Miss  Curiosity,  and  suppose  there  was :  it 
wouldn't  be  none  of  our  business.  It  don't  belong  to- 
us,  anyhow,"  answered  Willie  Norman. 

"  Yes,  Willie  ;  but  you  know  it  would  be  no  harm 
if  we  did  just  peep  through  the  hole  and  see.  I  should 
so  like  to  know  what  there  is  inside  !  " 

"Just  like  all  you  girls.  You're  never  satisfied 
150 


WASHED     ASHORE. 


unless    you    know    every    thing    that's    going    on.       I 
should  be  ashamed  of  myself  to  be  so  inquisitive,— 
I  should." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,  Willie  !     Of  course  you  don't  care 
to  know  any  thing  about  it.    Why,  you're  almost  dying 


to  find  it  out,  I'm  sure.     I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  were 
you  thai  cut  the  cord." 

"  No,  Miss  Pert :  I  wouldn't  be  so  mean.     I  wonder 
if  it  didn't  belong  to  some  poor  sailor  who  had  got 


WASHED     ASHORE. 


drowned;  and,  if  we  could  only  find  out  who  it  be- 
longed to,  we  could  send  it  home  to  their  friends,  any- 
how. I  won't  touch  it  myself ;  but  I'll  run  home  and 
tell  father  all  about  it." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Willie,  that  I  spoke  so  cross,"  replied 
Mattie.  "  I  didn't  mean  to.  You  are  a  good  boy,  after 
all.  Let  me  go  along  with  you,  will  you  ?  " 

So  Willie  ran  home  as  fast  as  he  could  to  tell  his 
father ;  and,  when  they  opened  the  chest,  they  found  a 
little  midshipman's  uniform,  and  a  bundle  of  letters 
tied  up  in  a  bit  of  oil-skin,  and  a  photograph  of  a 
lady,  besides  some  little  curiosities  from  India,  China, 
and  other  countries. 

Willie's  father  thought  he  had  seen  the  person 
before  whose  photograph  was  in  the  chest,  and  made 
inquiries  in  the  neighboring  towns.  Not  long  after- 
wards, he  found  that  it  belonged  to  a  sailor-boy  who 
had  been  wrecked  on  his  first  voyage  ;  but  that,  though 
the  ship  and  its  cargo  were  all  lost,  yet  the  lives  of  the 
crew  and  passengers  were  saved,  and  that  the  boy  was 
now  a  strong,  hearty,  and  good  man,  the  only  support 
of  his  widowed  mother. 

You  may  be  sure  they  were  very  much  obliged  to 
Willie  and  his  father,  who  had  taken  so  much  trouble 
to  find  an  owner  for  the  trunk;  and  every  now  and 
then  the  sailor  sent  a  little  present  tc  Willie,  in 
remembrance  of  the  sea-chest  which  was  "  washed 
ashore." 

152 


BOBBIT'S      BOAT. 


BOBBITS   BOAT. 

HARRY  was  cross  that  morning.  I  don't  know 
what  began  it.  Perhaps  he  got  out  of  bed  the  wrong 
way ;  or  maybe  his  breakfast  did  not  suit  him.  How- 
ever it  was,  nothing  went  right  with  him.  His  blocks 
wouldn't  build  well ;  his  velocipede-wheel  came  off ; 
Willy  couldn't  please  him ;  even  baby  Bess  got  a  rude 
shove  when  she  reached  out  her  pretty  baby  hand  to 
take  one  of  his  blocks  :  in  fact,  every  thing  was  out  of 
sorts. 

Mamma  was  very  busy,  and  wanted  to  work  all  day ; 
but,  when  she  saw  the  trouble  among  the  little  folks, 
she  quietly  put  away  her  papers,  shut  up  her  books, 
and  said, — 

"  Come,  children,  we'll  go  down  to  the  beach 
a  while." 

A  great  shout  went  up  from  Willy ;  baby  Bess 
clapped  her  hands ;  and  even  Harry  looked  pleased  a 
minute,  and  smiles  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  threat- 
ened to  drive  away  the  ugly  scowls  on  his  forehead. 
For  these  children  did  not  live  on  the  seashore :  they 
had  been  there  but  a  few  days,  and  it  was  still  new 
and  delightful  to  them. 

Down  to  the  beach  they  went ;  and,  before  long, 
153 


BOBBIT'S      BOAT. 


mamma  was  seated  on  the  warm  sand,  with  umbrella 
over  her  head,  and  book  in  her  lap ;  Bess  was  running 
about ;  and  the  boys  were  digging  in  the  sand,  making 
forts  and  caves  and  mountains  and  roads,  and  bring- 
ing water  to  wet  the  sand  when  it  became  too  dry  to 
keep  in  shape. 

They  were  having  a  very  pleasant  time,  and  the 
cross  wrinkles  were  almost  gone  from  Harry's  face, 
when,  as  he  was  coming  up  with  a  pail  of  water,  he 
saw  a  boy  and  girl  coming  directly  towards  them.  He 
stopped  a  minute,  and  looked  at  them ;  and  the  boy 
climbed  into  a  small  boat  which  was  partly  drawn  up 
on  the  beach,  but  the  little  girl  walked  up  to  see  what 
they  were  doing. 

"  Go  'way,  girl !  "  said  Harry  crossly  :  "  we  don't 
want  anybody  to  trouble  us." 

The  child  said  nothing,  and  stepped  back  a  step  or 
two,  but  was  so  interested  in  the  small  sand  city  they 
were  building,  that  she  stopped  again,  looking  eagerly 
on  at  the  work. 

Harry  began  again,  "  Go  'way,  I  say  1 " 

"  For  shame,  Harry ! "  said  Willy :  "  she  don't  hurt 
us.  Let  her  stay  if  she  wants  to." 

"  Well,  she's  too  near,"  Harry  went  on.  "  She's  right 
in  the  track  of  the  road  I'm  going  to  build  to  my  fort." 

"  She  can  come  my  side,"  said  Willy  pleasantly. 
"  Come  over  this  side  if  you  want  to,"  he  added  to  her. 

She  smiled,  and  came  nearer  to  him. 
154 


BOBBiT'y      tSOAT. 


"  See  here,"  he  went  on :  "  this  is  my  fort.  See  the 
guns  ?  They  ain't  really  guns,  you  know ;  only  stones. 
An'  this  is  the  cave  where  the  big  bear  lives ;  an'  the 
soldiers  'r  going  out  to  shoot  him,  —  bang  I  Wish't  I 
had  something  for  a  bear,"  he  broke  out.  "  I  can't  find 
a  big  enough  stone,  an'  the  cave  keeps  tumbling  down." 

A  long  time  the  children  played  their  delightful 
game,  and  the  little  girl  looked  on  equally  interested. 
But  the  sun  was  warm,  and  the  water  cool  and  inviting ; 
and  suddenly  Harry  suggested,  — 

"Let's  wade!" 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Down  went  the  pails 
and  shovels ;  bears  and  cannon,  forts  and  caves,  were 
left  to  fall  to  pieces ;  and  both  boys  rushed  eagerly 
down  to  the  water. 

"You  may  take  my  pail  and  shovel  if  you  want  to," 
shouted  Willy  to  the  little  girl  as  he  went ;  and  in  less 
than  two  minutes  the  boys  were  up  to  their  knees  in 
the  water,  and  the  little  stranger  was  busily  filling  the 
pail  with  sand.  Suddenly  she  seemed  to  think  of 
something.  She  set  the  pail  carefully  down,  laid  the 
shovel  beside  it,  and  saying  shortly,  "  Got  something," 
she  started  off  on  a  run  as  fast  as  her  little  brown 
legs  would  carry  her.  A  little  way  up  the  beach  was 
a  fisherman's  cottage;  and  into  that  she  dashed,  and 
in  a  moment  was  out  again,  holding  in  her  two  hands  a 
wonderful  little  boat,  with  masts  and  streamer  all  com- 
plete, sails  all  spread  ready  for  a  sail. 

156 


BOBBIT'S     BOAT. 


Where  is  the  boy  who  doesn't  love  a  boat  ?  Both 
the  boys  gave  a  cry  of  delight,  and  started  on  a  run 
towards  her,  each  eager  to  be  first.  Harry  was  the 
largest ;  so  he  was  first :  but  she  held  her  boat  closely 
hugged  in  her  arms,  and  ran  by  him  till  she  came  up 
to  Willy ;  when  she  quickly  put  the  treasure  into  his 
hands,  saying,  — 

"  You  may  sail  it." 

Harry  was  going  to  be  angry ;  but  he  remembered 
his  crossness  to  her,  and  was  ashamed  instead.  He 
turned  sulkily,  and  walked  toward  the  little  boat,  where 
the  boy  sat  looking  on,  and  rocking  back  and  forth  oi> 
the  sand. 

As  for  Willy,  he  was  almost  too  happy  to  breathe. 
He  held  the  pretty  toy  carefully,  and  hurried  down  to 
the  water ;  but  his  tongue  could  not  long  be  still,  and 
he  began :  — 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  Daddy  made  it,"  said  the  child,  who  kept  by  his 
side.  "  Her  name's  '  The  Mary  Ann  ; '  see ; "  and  she 
pointed  out  the  name  painted  on  the  stern. 

"  The  Mary  Ann  of  Seabeach,"  Willy  slowly  spelled 
out ;  for  he  was  not  very  old,  and  of  course  couldn't  be 
expected  to  read  very  well. 

"  Oh,"  sighed  Willy,  "  I  wish  my  papa  would  make 
me  one ! " 

"  Is  he  a  fisherman  ?  "  asked  the  girl  eagerly. 

44  No ;  course  not,"  said  Willy.     "  He's  a  doctor." 
157 


BORBIT'S     BOAT. 

"  Then  he  can't  make  one,"  said  she.  "  My  daddy's 
a  fisherman,  'n  he  can  make  any  thing." 

But  now  the  vessel  was  in  the  water,  and  Willy  was 
too  busy  watching  it  to  say  any  more ;  and  the  child 
went  back  to  her  digging. 

In  a  few  moments  baby  Bess  ran  hastily  up  to 
mamma,  and  buried  her  shy  face  on  her  shoulder,  as 
she  always  did  when  a  stranger  came  near.  Mamma 
looked  up ;  and  there  stood  the  funny  little  maiden,  with 
a  pail  full  of  clean  white  sand,  and  a  bright  smile  on 
her  round  brown  face. 

"  Want  some  nice  sand,  m'm  ?  "  she  asked  politely. 

"  Why,  what  could  I  want  of  sand  ? "  asked  mam- 
ma. 

"  Scrub  your  floor,"  said  the  smiling  damsel. 

Mamma  laughed.  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  said. 
41  But  who  are  you  ?  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"Name's  Bobbit." 

"What  else?  "  mamma  went  on. 

"  Daddy's  dumplin',"  said  she  demurely. 

"Where  do  you  live,  little  Bobbit?" 

"  Over  there ;  "  and  she  held  out  her  little  brown  paw 
towards  the  cottage.  "Is  your  little  girl  sick?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,"  said  mamma ;  "  but  she's  shy  of  strangers. 
But  now  it  is  lunch-time,  Miss  Bobbit :  I  will  be  happy 
to  have  you  stay  to  lunch." 

"  Hey  ?  "  said  Bobbit  doubtfully. 
158 


BOBBIT'S      BOAT. 


"  I  have  some  cakes  in  my  basket,"  said  mamma : 
"  will  you  sit  down  with  us,  and  eat  some  ?  " 

Now  was  Bobbit's  turn  to  be  delighted.  Little 
vessels  were  common  enough  in  her  life ;  but  cakes!  — 
she  did  not  have  them  every  day.  She  sat  down 
demurely  in  the  sand,  and  folded  her  small  hands 
politely  on  her  lap. 

"  Boys,"  said  mamma,  "  don't  you  want  some 
lunch  ?  " 

Then  there  was  a  scramble.  Harry  sprang  down 
from  the  boat  where  he  had  been  talking  with  the  boy, 
or  rather  had  listened  while  the  boy  talked  about  boats 
and  such  delightful  things,  and  told  how  he  was  going 
to  be  a  sailor,  and  go  across  the  ocean. 

"  Harry,"  said  mamma,  "  why  don't  you  invite  your 
friend  to  come  ?  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Harry. 

"  Please,  m'm,  he's  Tom,"  said  Bobbit. 

"Tom,"  said  mamma,  "would  you  like  a  cake?" 

Tom  looked  as  though  he  would,  but  he  said  noth- 
ing; only  kicked  up  the  sand  with  his  bare  toes. 
Mamma  opened  the  basket,  and  took  out  a  big  dough- 
nut, and  a  cooky  with  a  hole  in  it,  which  she  §»ave  to 
Harry  to  take  to  Tom ;  and  then  she  gave  all  the  hun- 
gry little  folks  doughnuts  and  cookies  till  the  basket 
was  empty,  and  their  mouths  were  filled. 

"  Willy,"  said  Bobbit  sweetly,  as  they  turned  again  to 
the  beach  to  play,  "  Harry  may  take  my  boat  some  too." 


MOTHER  DARLING'S  FAMILY. 


MOTHER  DARLING'S  FAMILY. 

>THER  Darling  is  Clara's  pet  cat. 
One  very  rainy  day  she  came  into 
the  house  with  —  what  do  you  sup- 
pose in  her  mouth? 

"  A  mouse  !  "  exclaimed  one. 
"No." 

"  Oh  !  a  little  mite  of  a  kitty  !  " 
cries  another,  who  is  certain  she  is  right. 

But  she  is  not.  It  was  a  cunning  lit- 
tle white  rabbit.  She  showed  it  to  Clara 
first,  then  carefully  deposited  it  in  the  old 
basket  where  her  own  babies  lay  fast  asleep. 
She  smoothed  its  tumbled  fur  —  purred  loud- 
ly when  Clara  took  kitties  and  rabbit  into  her 
lap  —  rubbed  her  head  against  Clara's  foot,  then 
walked  out  of  the  house. 

"Why,  Mother  Darling!"  cried  Clara,  in  amaze- 
ment when  she  returned  with  the  second  rabbit,  "where 
have  you  been  in  the  rain  to  find  another?  " 

Puss  preserved  a  discreet  silence  as  to  where  she 
found  her  new  babies,  but  she  purred  her  delight  when 
Clara  took  the  second  rabbit  into  her  lap.  After  see- 
ing that  this  was  made  welcome,  she  went  to  the  door 
again  and  mewed  to  be  let  out. 

"Do  you  suppose,  mother,  she'll  bring  in  another?" 

160 


MOTHER  DARLING'S  FAMILY. 


"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.     We'll  try  her  and  see." 
"And  I'll  watch  and  find  out  which  way  she  comes 

from." 

But  all  Clara's  watching  did  no  good.     She  turned 

her  head  a  moment,  and  in  that  moment,  sly  Mother 

Darling  came  in  with  the  third  rabbit. 


"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  cried  mamma,  "  we  shall  have  the 
house  full  of  rabbits  if  she  keeps  on ! " 

"But  isn't  it  funny!"  said  Clara,  laughing  merrily, 
"what  do  you  suppose  she'll  do  with  them?" 

Mother  Darling  answered  the  question  herself  by 
cuddling  down  in  the  basket  and  gathering  her 

161 


MOTHER  DARLING'S  FAMILY. 


babies  close.     She  seemed  to  give  special  attention  to 
her  adopted  children. 

"  I  guess  she  got  them  over  to  Jamie  Gilbert's. 
He  keeps  rabbits,  you  know,  mamma." 

"Well,  when  Carlos  comes  home  he  had  better  run 
over  and  see." 

"  O  mamma,  wait  till  to-morrow,  they  look  so  cun- 
ning together." 

"  Perhaps  Jamie  will  want  them  if  they  belong  to 
him." 

"  But  don't  send  over,  mamma.  Mother  Darling 
will  take  good  care  of  them." 

,  They  decided  to  make  no  inquiries  that  day.  Did 
puss  hear  and  understand? — Before  night  eight  rab- 
bits shared  the  old  basket  with  the  kittens. 

Clara  was  almost  wild  with  delight,  but,  mamma 
began  to  look  sober.  If  Mother  Darling  had  a  mania 
for  stealing  rabbits,  what  would  the  end  be  ? 

When  Carlos  came  home  he  said  at  once  that  the 
rabbits  belonged  to  Jamie.  "  But  the  old  ones  are 
dead  —  got  killed  somehow  —  and  he'll  be  glad  to 
have  Mother  Darling  adopt  them.  But  what  possessed 
the  old  lady  to  tug  them  over  here,  I  wonder." 

"You  darling  Mother  Darling !"  exclaimed  Clara, 
warmly,  "You  didn't  want  the  dear  little  things  to 
starve  to  death,  did  you  ?  "  and  she  hugged  cat,  kittens, 
and  rabbits,  all  in  a  bunch. 

The  rabbits  and  kittens   flourished  together,  won 

162 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  AFRAID  OF  A  DOG. 


•derfully.  And  soon  Mother  Darling's  family  became 
the  chief  attraction  to  the  children  of  the  neigborhood. 
When  the  rabbits  became  old  enough — or  rather 
when  Clara  was  willing  they  should  leave  their  foster- 
mother,  the  trouble  was  not  how  to  find  homes  for  so 
many;  but  how  to  make  them  hold  out,  so  that  all  the 
children  who  wished,  could  have  a  pet  from  Mother 
Darling's  family. 

LAURIE  LORING. 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  AFRAID 
OF  A  DOG. 

:ITTLE  Jeanie  Carter  started  for  school  one  fine 
morning  in  June,  with  her  dinner-pail  on  one 
arm,  and  a  big  basket  of  flowers  which  her 
mamma  had  picked  for  the  teacher  on  the  other.  As 
her  mother  kissed  her  good-by  at  the  door,  she  said, 

"Good-by,  dear.  You  look  just  like  little  Red 
Riding  Hood  going  to  her  grandmother's." 

Now  Jeanie  could  not  yet  read,  but  Bridget,  the 
nurse,  had  often  told  her  the  story  of  that  celebrated 
little  woman,  and  acted  it  out  as  she  went  along,  to 
make  it  somewhat  more  thrilling.  So  it  was  not  to 
Jeanie  the  nice  little  story  it  is  to  you,  where  the  wolf 

163 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  AFRAID  OF  A  DOG. 


gets  well  punished,  and  Red  Riding  Hood  lives  to  a 
respectable  old  age.  To  her  it  was  a  dreadful  tragedy 
that  had  surely  happened  once  to  a  little  girl,  and 
might  happen  again,  for  when  she  tremblingly  asked 
Bridget  if  there  were  any  wolves  now,  she  said, 

"  Yes,  sure ;  and  mind  ye're  a  nice  little  gal,  and  lie 
still,  or  maybe  one'll  come  growling  around  the  house." 

Of  course  mamma  didn't  know  anything  about 
this,  and  never  thought  of  frightening  the  poor  child, 
but  having  seen  her  well  on  her  way,  went  back  to 
her  sewing.  Jeanie  meanwhile  crept  fearfully  along 
towards  school,  wondering  how  it  would  seem  to  meet 
a  wolf,  and  if  he  would  eat  her. 

When  she  had  nearly  reached  the  school-house, 
she  turned  a  corner  suddenly,  and  there  stood  a  large, 
shaggy  dog.  He  seemed  to  be  lost,  and  looking  for 
somebody,  and  when  he  saw  a  nice  little  girl,  he  came 
towards  her,  wagging  his  tail,  and  saying  as  pleasantly 
as  he  could  in  his  way, 

"Good  morning,  little  girl.  May  I  walk  along  by 
you  ?  I've  lost  my  master,  and  I  feel  lonely." 

Unfortunately,  Jeanie  didn't  understand  dog-talk, 
and  this  creature  looked  like  the  picture  of  a  wolf 
that  hung  in  the  nursery. 

She  started  back  in  terror,  squeezing  herself  against 
the  stone  wall,  and  trying  to  get  past  him.  But  part 
of  her  lunch  that  day  was  a  doughnut,  still  warm  from 
the  pan,  and  it  must  be  that  the  dog  smelled  it,  for  he 

164 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  AFRAID  OF  A  DOG. 


came  close  to  her,  and  snuffed  at  her  pail  as  though 
he  would  like  to  eat  it. 

Poor  Jeanie  crowded  herself  against  the  wall,  and 
dared  not  move,  and  the  dog  ran  out  his  red  tongue 
and  licked  his^chops  as  though  the  smell  of  the  fra- 
grant cake  was  good  enough  to  eat. 

I  don't  know  how  long  she  would  have  stood  there, 
with  the  pleasant  dog  trying  to  make  her  acquaintance, 
but  one  of  the  big  girls  came  along  and  made  him 
understand  that  he  was  not  wanted,  and  Jeanie  took 
hold  of  her  hand  and  went  to  school. 

The  story  got  out  among  the  scholars,  and  didn't 
the  boys  and  girls  laugh  at  her  for  being  afraid  of  Mr. 
Taintor's  Carlo,  and  fancying  he  wanted  to  eat  her! 

When  mamma  found  it  out,  she  talked  to  Bridget, 
and  forbade  her  telling  stories  to  the  children. 

Jeanie  was  called  Red  Riding  Hood  till  she  grew 
up  to  be  a  woman ;  and  she  often  said  she  was  never 
in  her  life  so  terrified  as  when  she  stood  against  that 
wall,  expecting  to  be  eaten  by  a  wolf. 

OLIVE  THORNE. 


165 


CAMELS. 


CAMELS. 

DON'T  you  think  that  is  a  queer-looking  horse, 
children,  with  a  great  hump  on  his  back,  and  such  a 
strange,  crooked  neck  ?  You  don't  think  it  is  a  horse, 
perhaps ;  but  at  least  it  does  a  horse's  work,  and  even 
more  work  than  a  horse  can  do.  In  those  very  hot 
countries  where  camels  live,  people  don't  use  many 
horses :  they  let  this  queer  creature  serve  instead. 
You  have  no  idea  how  much  baggage  he  can  carry  at 
a  time  on  that  great  humpy  back  of  his.  He  doesn't 
like  to  do  it,  though.  In  fact,  he  is  not  good-natured  at 
all,  but  very  cross  and  quarrelsome.  He  doesn't  learn 
to  love  his  master  as  our  horse  does.  Even  if  people 
are  very  kind  to  him,  he  doesn't  love  them  back.  Isn't 
that  an  ugly  temper  to  show  ?  He  gets  a  great  many 
beatings  for  it  too. 

In  those  hot  countries  there  are  great  deserts 
covered  with  sand,  where  for  miles  and  miles  there  are 
no  trees  or  plants,  and  no  water.  Sometimes,  when 
people  are  travelling  on  these  great  deserts,  the  water 
which  they  carried  with  them  is  almost  gone :  there  is 
none  to  spare  for  the  poor  old  camel.  Then  what  do 
you  think  he  does?  Why,  he,  too,  carries  his  own 
supply  of  water.  God  has  put  something  inside  o/ 

166 


KEEPING     ROBBIE     STILL. 


him  to  hold  water,  so  that  he  need  not  go  thirsty. 
Then,  if  there  is  no  food  for  him,  do  you  think 
he  starves  ?  Not  he,  so  long  as  the  great  lump 
of  fat  lasts  which  God  has  put  inside  of  him.  You 
see,  he  has  food  and  drink  in  his  own  private  dinner- 
basket. 

In  those  great  deserts  there  are  sometimes  terrible 
storms  of  wind,  which  blow  the  sand  about  so  that 
people  have  to  lie  down  and  cover  their  faces.  But 
God  has  given  the  camel  little  doors  to  go  before  his 
eyes,  and  keep  the  dust  quite  out  of  them.  Don't  you 
think  the  camel  ought  to  be  better-natured  when  God 
has  been  so  good  to  him  ?  But,  then,  God  has  given 
to  us  a  great  deal  more  than  he  has  to  the  camel ;  and 
we  are  not  always  grateful. 

If  you  look  in  your  Bible,  you  can  read  about  a 
man  who  had  three  thousand  of  these  animals.  Who 
was  it? 


KEEPING  ROBBIE  STILL. 

LITTLE  ROBBIE  was  sent  into  the  country  to  his 
aunt  once,  when  his  dear  mamma  was  ill.  Everybody 
was  careful  to  see  his  clothes,  his  stout  boots,  and  his 
warm  stockings,  put  into  the  big  bag  his  papa  was  to 
take  for  him.  But  no  one  thought  of  Dick  his  head- 
less rocking-horse,  of  his  drummer-boy,  or  his  fife  and 

168 


KEEPING     ROBBIE     STILL. 


trumpet ;  and  they  were  far  more  to  Robbie  than  all  his 
clothes  were. 

This  aunt's  house  was  very  neat:  you  could  not 
find  a  speck  of  dirt  in  it,  nor  a  bit  of  paper  nor  a 
chicken's  feather  on  the  lawn.  No  flowers  were 
allowed  there,  except  those  which  aunt  Phebe  put  up, 
stiff  and  straight,  in  her  parlor  vases.  The  dear  little 
boy  hunted  around  for  a  big  stick  to  ride  in  place  of 
Dick,  and,  having  found  one,  galloped  joyfully  into  the 
room. 

"  O  Rob  I  "  she  cried  out,  "  carry  that  old  stick  into 
the  shed,  and  do  keep  still." 

"That  isn't  an  old  stick,"  said  Rob  in  surprise. 
41  That's  a  hoss,  auntie." 

"  I  don't  wonder  your  mother  s  sick,"  said  auntie, 
"  if  you  are  so  noisy  all  the  time  at  home.  You  must 
keep  still  here,  or  you'll  make  me  crazy." 

So  the  good  child  put  away  "  Dick,"  and  got  the 
big  dinner-bell,  and  went  up  stairs  and  down,  and  out 
on  the  piazza,  which  he  called  the  deck,  calling  on  the 
passengers  to  pay  their  fares. 

"  Now,  Rob,  you  will  craze  me  1 "  said  his  aunt. 
"  Give  me  the  bell,  and  sit  down  on  the  lowest  step  of 
the  piazza,  and  keep  still." 

So  Rob  folded  his  dear  little  hands  on  his  lap.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  stepping-stone  before  the  dooi. 
and  drew  a  long  sigh.  After  a  little  he  said,  "O 
auntie  dear,  I  do  pity  stones  sol" 

160 


KEEPING     ROBBIE     STILL. 


"  Pity  stones  ?     What  for,  Robbie  ?  " 

"  'Cause  they  have  to  keep  so  still  all  their  lives. 
I'm  so  glad  I  ain't  a  stone!" 

"  There's  no  danger  of  your  turning  into  a  stone. 
Rob :  you  don't  keep  still  long  enough." 

"Oh,  dear!  how  stones  must  ache,  keepin'  still 
always!  I  ache  now  just  in  this  little  speck  of  time. 
I'm  glad  I  ain't  a  fence,  nor  a  tree,  nor  a  rag-baby  that 
can't  move  till  somebody  pulls  you.  O  auntie,  my 
head  aches,  and  my  hands  and  feet  are  cold,  and  my 
eyes  are  crooked,  keepin'  still  such  a  long  time ! " 

"  Your  mouth  is  all  right,  little  boy,"  said  the  lady. 
11  That  hasn't  kept  still  at  all." 

Then  grandma  came  in,  and  asked  what  was  the 
matter ;  and  Rob  said,  "  I'm  all  hard,  I've  been  sittin' 
still  such  an  awful  long  time." 

"  One  minute,"  said  aunt  Phebe. 

"  O  auntie,  it's  an  hour,  and  I'm  all  asleep  but  my 
head !  Can't  I  get  up  ?  —  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  grandma.  "  You  may  come  up  in  my 
room,  and  make  a  train  of  cars  with  the  chairs." 

"  Won't  you  be  crazy,  grandma  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear :  noise  does  not  trouble  me  much. 
But  it  is  a  good  plan  for  little  boys  to  learn  to  be  still, 
so  that  they  will  not  trouble  those  who  are  not  well. 
To-morrow  morning  I  wish  you  would  fold  your  hands 
and  sit  still  one  minute,  and  again  in  the  afternoon. 
We  will  call  that  your  '  lesson  in  silence.'  By  and  by 

170 


WILLY'S     NAUGHTY     DAY. 


you  can  sit  still  two,  three,  and  five  minutes,  to  please 
those  who  do  not  like  a  noise." 

"  Yes,  grandma  dear,  I  will ;  but  I  hope  mamma 
will  soon  be  well,  I'm  so  tired  of  keeping  still,"  said 
the  dear  little  boy. 


WILLY'S   NAUGHTY   DAY. 

"  Now  be  good  children,"  said  mamma  as  she 
stepped  into  the  carriage.  "  Auntie  and  I  will  be  home 
to  lunch ;  and  this  afternoon  you  shall  all  have  a  ride, 
if  you  are  good." 

The  children  shouted  their  good-bys  till  the  car- 
riage turned  out  of  the  yard,  and  then  they  went  back 
into  the  house. 

"  Now,  what  would  you  like  to  do  ?  "  asked  matronly 
little  Molly  of  her  two  cousins  Claude  and  Lily,  who 
stood  together  inside  of  the  door  rather  bashfully ;  for 
they  had  not  been  in  the  house  long  enough  to  feel 
much  acquainted. 

"  Let's  swing ! "  shouted  Molly's  brother  Willy. 
"  It's  splendid  this  morning  out  under  the  trees." 

"  Would  you  like  to  swing  ?  "  Molly  asked  of  the 
two  guests.  "  I  have  to  work  all  the  morning  on  the 
scrap-book  I'm  making,  or  I  shall  not  get  it  done  for 

171 


WILLY'S     NAUGHTY     DAY. 


you  to  take  home  to  Maudie ;  but  Willy  can  show  you 
the  swing." 

"  I'd  rather  go  with  you,"  said  cousin  Lily  modestly : 
"  I  want  to  see  you  make  it." 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Claude,  who  did  not  much  like 
Willy's  rough  ways. 

"  Well,"  said  Molly,  "  I'd  like  to  have  you  go.  — 
You  can  swing,  Willy,  if  you  like." 

"  No,  I  can't,"  whined  Willy,  "  unless  you  come  and 
push  me." 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  said  Molly.  "  I  can  hardly  get 
the  book  done  anyway." 

"  Let  the  old  book  go,"  said  Willy  fretfully. 

"Why,  Willy  I"  said.  Molly.  "Think  of  poor  little 
Maudie  lying  all  the  time  on  her  bed,  and  how  she 
will  like  a  nice  big  picture-book." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Willy,  pouting. 

Molly  said  no  more,  but  led  the  way  to  her  nice 
little  room  where  the  half-finished  scrap-book  lay  open 
on  the  table,  and  cut  pictures  all  around  it.  She 
glanced  lovingly  at  her  new  book,  —  a  beautiful  one 
which  auntie  had  brought  her,  and  which  she  had 
hardly  found  time  to  look  at  yet. 

"  I'll  lay  this  on  the  table,  where  I  can  see  it  as 
I  work,"  she  said:  "that  will  be  next  best  to  read- 
ing it." 

"  It's  a  real  nice  story,"  said  Lily.  "  I  told  mamma 
I  knew  you  would  like  it." 

172 


WILLY'S     NAUGHTY     DAY. 


, "  I  know  I  shall,"  said  Molly.  "  It  looks  splendid." 
And  she  sat  down  to  her  work. 

The  two  cousins  looked  on  a  while,  selected  pictures 
to  suit  the  pages;  and  talked  about  their  home,  their 
friends,  and  their  school.  They  were  having  a  very 
nice  time,  when  Willy  bounced  in. 

"Say,  Moll,  you  come  and  swing  me,"  he  began 
rudely. 

"  Why,  Willy !  "  remonstrated  Molly.  "  What  would 
mother  say  to  see  you  act  so  ?  You  know,  she  said 
we  must  be  good." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Willy  crossly.  "  I  can't  have  a 
bit  of  fun,  'cause  you're  so  hateful." 

Molly  blushed  for  her  little  brother;  and  the  two 
cousins  felt  so  ashamed  for  him,  and  so  sorry  for  her, 
that  they  went  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  pretend- 
ing to  be  very  much  interested  in  something  in  the 
street. 

"  Will  you  come  ?  "  shouted  Willy. 

"  You  know  I  can't,"  answered  Molly. 

"Then  I'll  smash  your  old  bowl,  and  scatter  the 
paste  all  over ! "  said  he,  seizing  her  new  book  and  a 
slate,  and  holding  them  up  threateningly. 

"  O  Willy !  "  cried  Molly  imploringly,  "  don't  touch 
my  new  book!  You'll  hurt  it!" 

"  Course  I  will,"  said  he  teasingly,  — "  get  it  all 
paste,  and  spoil  the  scrap-book." 

"You  know  mamma'll  punish  you,  Willy,  if   you 

174 


WILLY'S     NAUGHTY     DAY. 


<lo  any  mischief,"  said  poor  Molly,  anxiously  looking 
after  ner  treasure. 

"  Well,  here  goes,"  said  Willy.  "  Now  I'll  give  you 
three  chances  to  save  it. 

"  One  to  begin:  will  you  go? " 

"  Willy,  you  know  I  can't,"  said  Molly.  "  Now  do 
put  that  down,  and  be  good." 

"  Two  to  show :  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Molly.  "  I'm  awfully  ashamed  of  you. 
What  will  cousin  Claude  think  of  you  ?  "  glancing  over 
to  where  the  cousin  still  gazed  out  of  the  window. 

"  Three  to  make  ready"  went  on  Willy.  " The  last 
call :  will  you  go  ?  " 

Molly  did  not  answer.  She  had  no  idea  that  he 
would  dare  to  do  as  he  threatened,  and  he  did  not  really 
mean  to :  he  only  meant  to  scare  her,  and  torment  her, 
till  she  would  give  up. 

"Four  to  go"  he  went  on  deliberately,  raised  the 
book  and  slate  high,  and  brought  them  down  with  a 
crash  on  the  table,  just  avoiding  the  bowl  as  he  in- 
tended, but,  alas  I  losing  his  hold  of  the  slippery  book, 
which  fell  heavily  to  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  oh !  my  book !  "  cried  Molly,  jumping  up,  and 
seizing  the  beautiful  gift.  It  was  nearly  a  wreck, — 
one  corner  bent  up,  and  the  binding  broken  loose  from 
the  back. 

That  was  too  much  for  any  little  girl  to  endure. 
Hugging  the  broken  treasure  in  her  arms,  Molly 


WILLY'S     NAUGHfY     DAV. 


rushed  out  of  the  door  and  to  her  mother's  room, 
where  she  threw  herself  on  to  the  bed,  and  cried 
bitterly. 

Willy  sat  silent.  He  was  struck  with  horror  at 
what  he  had  done ;  for  he  only  meant  to  frighten  her, 
and  he  knew  his  mother  would  punish  him.  Indigna- 
tion got  the  better  of  Claude's  diffidence,  and  he  spoke 
out  earnestly,  "  I  think  you're  the  meanest  boy  I  ever 
saw ;  "  while  "  Shame  on  you  I  "  came  even  from  Lily's 
gentle  lips. 

Willy  couldn't  stand  that :  so  he  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  went  down  to  the  swing,  and  tried  to  make 
believe  he  didn't  care. 

\Vhe^  Ti^mmp  pnH  -j'uitie  came  back,  and  the  chil- 
Iren  came  down  to  lunch,  all  were  very  sober.  Molly's 
eyes  were  red,  and  her  face  swollen ;  but  she  did  not 
complain.  Willy's  whole  face  was  red,  and  the  cousins 
looked  as  though  they  wanted  to  go  home. 

After  looking  sharply  at  them  a  few  moments, 
mamma  asked  Willy  what  was  the  matter ;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  tell  the  whole  story,  though  he  softened  it 
as  much  as  he  could.  Nothing  more  was  said  till  after 
lunch,  when,  as  the  carriage  drove  up  to  take  them  all 
to  ride,  mamma  pronounced  his  sentence. 

"  Willy,  I'm  sorry  to  punish  you  while  your  cousins 
are  here ;  but  I  am  obliged  to  do  so.  For  being 
naughty,  and  teasing  your  sister,  you  lose  your  ride 
this  afternoon ;  and,  for  your  careless  accident  to  her 

176 


A     QUEER     FAIRY, 


z>ook,  you  will  take  money  out  of  your  bank,  and  buy 
ner  a  new  one  just  like  it.  The  broken  one  you  can 
keep  to  remind  you  of  your  naughtiness." 

To  lose  the  ride  was  dreadful ;  but  to  take  so  much 
of  his  money,  carefully  saved  for  months  to  buy  a 
velocipede  with,  was  a  serious  grief  to  Willy,  and  he 
never  forgot  it  as  long  as  he  lived. 


A   QUEER   FAIRY. 

"  Now,  Nora  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  must  go  to 
the  village  to  look  after  poor  Mrs.  Jones's  broken  arm. 
If  you  will  peel  the  apples  for  my  pies  before  I  come 
home,  you  may  pour  out  father's  tea  the  first  night 
after  he  comes  back." 

Nora's  face  shone  at  once  with  little  glimmering 
smiles.  She  had  been  breaking  out  into  smiles  for  a 
whole  week  past,  this  dear  little  girl ;  and  this  was  the 
reason. 

For  four  long  years  "  father  "  had  been  sailing  out 
on  the  great  wide  sea.  Through  storms  and  through 
sunshine  his  great  ship  had  been  going  round  the 
world,  and  only  once  in  a  long  time  a  letter  or  a 
message  would  reach  Nora  and  her  mother. 

But  one  week  ago  a  letter  had  come  to  them,  say- 
ing that  father  was  on  the  way ;  that  he  might  any  day 

177 


A     QUEER     FAIRY. 


reach  home.  There  was  a  great  jubilee  after  that. 
Day  by  day  they  watched  for  him  ;  and  every  night 
they  said,  "  Perhaps  he  will  come  to-morrow." 


So  Nora  was  very  much  pleased  at  the  thought  of 
pouring  out  father's  tea  on  the  first  night  of  his 
coming.  She  sat  down  on  mother's  chair  by  the 
dresser,  and  took  the  great  bowl  of  apples  in  her  lap ; 
but  I  am  very  sure  she  never  once  thought  of  the  pies 


A     QUEER     FAIRY. 


they  were  to  make.  First  she  began  thinking  of  father 
and  how  much  she  loved  him.  Then,  because  the 
afternoon  sun  shone  so  pretty  and  bright,  she  fell  to 
thinking  of  green  woods,  and  flowers,  and  the  fairies 
in  her  story-books. 

"  How  I  wish  one  would  come  now !  "  said  Nora  to 
herself :  "  she  would  have  on  a  forlorn  red  petticoat,  I 
suppose,  and  lean  on  a  stick,  to  make  me  think  she  was 
old  and  poor." 

Nora  broke  into  a  happy  little  laugh. 

"  Then  she  would  ask  me  for  a  drink  of  water,  or  a 
crust  of  bread ;  and  if  I  said,  '  Go  away,  and  don't 
bother,'  or  threw  an  apple-skin  at  her,  she  would  make 
toads  and  all  sorts  of  ugly  things  come  after  me." 

Click,  click,  went  the  gate-latch ;  and  a  man  came 
hurrying  up  the  road. 

"  And  if  I  said,  '  Oh,  yes,  dear  dame ! '  "  Nora  went 
on  to  herself,  "  and  ran  to  get  her  a  drink,  and  a  slice 
of  bread  and  butter,  she  would  turn  into  a  beautiful 
lady,  and  make  me  ride  in  a  carriage." 

Rap,  rap,  at  the  door.  Nora  cried  out,  "  Come  in," 
almost  thinking  to  see  the  queer  little  old  woman  in  a 
red-flannel  petticoat :  only  she  remembered  how  mother 
had  told  her  there  were  no  fairies,  and  God  was  better 
than  even  the  best  of  the  beautiful  fairy  ladies  she 
loved  to  read  about. 

A  rough-looking  man  opened  the  door,  and  stood 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand.  "  Day,  miss,"  he  said. 

179 


A     QUEER     FAIRY. 


"There's  a  man  fallen  faint  just  down  by  the  road 
yonder,  —  sun-stroke,  like  enough.  Wish  you'd  come 
along,  and  bring  some  brandy,  and  let  us  fetch  him  up 
here  a  bit.  It's  about  as  nigh  as  anywheres." 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Nora,  "I  wish"-  She 
was  going  to  say,  "  I  wish  you  would  take  him  a 
little  farther  on,  —  to  Mrs.  Peterson's."  "How  ever 
will  my  apples  get  done?"  she  thought  to  herself; 
"and  father  may  come  to-night,  and  I  can't  pour  the 
tea." 

Just  then  a  little  verse  that  she  had  learned  once  in 
sabbath  school  came  into  her  mind  :  "  Be  ye,  therefore, 
merciful."  She  rose  then,  put  down  her  apples,  and 
went  to  the  cupboard  for  the  brandy.  "  Mother  isn't 
home,"  she  said :  "  but  I  guess  you  can  bring  him  up ; 
and  I  will  go  with  you,  if  you  like." 

So  they  went  out  together  in  the  sweet  afternoon 
sunshine,  —  Nora  and  the  rough,  strange  man,  —  and 
Nora  carried  the  brandy. 

There  was  a  little  crowd  down  at  the  gate,  and 
some  people  were  carrying  a  man,  —  the  man  who  had 
been  sun-struck,  Nora  supposed. 

Some  one  took  the  brandy  from  hex,  and  held  it  to 
his  lips ;  and,  a  moment  after,  he  opened  his  eyes. 
Nora  thought  she  had  seen  those  eyes  before;  and 
all  at  once  she  gave  a  great  cry,  and  threw  her  little 
arms  close,  close  around  him. 

When  mother  came  home,  she  found  this  poor  man 
1 80 


I     HAD     A     vSWEET     LITTLE     DOLL. 


lying  on  her  own  bed,  with  the  shutters  closed  and 
darkened;  and  Nora  sat  beside  him,  with  her  hand 
clasped  in  his,  as  happy  as  a  little  queen,  —  happier, 
perhaps. 

"  O  mother,  mother !  he  has  come  1 "  she  said,  cry- 
ing and  laughing  together.  Mother  cried  too ;  and  of 
course  there  was  a  great  deal  to  tell  and  to  hear.  But 
by  supper-time  father  was  so  much  better,  that  he  lay 
on  the  sofa  while  Nora  poured  tea  for  him,  although 
the  apples  were  still  unpeeled.  Nora  felt  as  though  a 
good  fairy  in  red  petticoats  had  really  come,  and  turned 
out  a  beautiful  lady ;  or  rather  as  though  God  had  sent 
some  kind  angel  to  teach  her  a  lesson. 


I  HAD  A  SWEET   LITTLE   DOLL. 

I  ONCE  had  a  sweet  little  doll,  dears, — 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world : 
Her  cheeks  were  so  red  and  so  white,  dears  1 

And  her  hair  was  so  charmingly  curledl 
But  I  lost  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  in  the  heath  one  day : 
And  I  cried  for  her  more  than  a  week,  dears ; 

But  I  never  could  find  where  she  lay. 
181 


I      HAD      A     SWEET     LITTLE      DOLL. 


I  found  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 
As  I  played  in  the  heath  one  day. 

Folks  say  she  is  terribly  changed,  dears  ; 
For  her  paint  is  all  washed  away, 


And  her  arm  trodden  off  by  the  cows,  dears, 
And  her  hair  not  the  least  bit  curled  : 

Yet  for  old  sakes's  sake  she  is  still,  dears, 
The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world. 


HOW     THE     SWEEP     FOUND     HE     WAS     BLACK. 


How  THE  SWEEP  FOUND  HE  WAS 
BLACK. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  chimney-sweep, 
and  his  name  was  Tom.  That  is  a  short  name,  and 
you  have  heard  it  before :  so  you  will  not  have  much 
trouble  in  remembering  it.  He  lived  in  a  great  town 
in  the  North  country,  where  there  were  plenty  of  chim- 
neys to  sweep,  and  plenty  of  money  for  Tom  to  earn 
and  his  master  to  spend.  He  could  not  read  nor  write, 
and  did  not  care  to  do  either ;  and  he  never  washed 
himself,  for  there  was  no  water  up  the  court  where  he 
lived.  He  had  never  been  taught  to  say  his  prayers. 
He  never  had  heard  of  God  or  of  Christ,  except  in 
words  which  you  never  have  heard,  and  which  it  would 
have  been  well  if  he  had  never  heard.  He  cried  half 
his  time,  and  laughed  the  other  half.  He  cried  when 
he  had  to  climb  the  dark  flues,  rubbing  his  poor  knees 
and  elbows  raw ;  and  when  the  soot  got  into  his  eyes, 
which  it  did  every  day  in  the  week ;  and  when  his 
master  beat  him,  which  he  did  every  day  in  the  week ; 
and  when  he  had  not  enough  to  eat,  which  happened 
every  day  in  the  week  likewise.  And  he  laughed  the 
other  half  of  the  day,  when  he  was  tossing  halfpennies 
with  the  other  boys,  or  playing  leap-frog  over  the 

183 


HOW     THE     SWEEP     FOUND     HE     WAS     BLACK. 

posts,  or  bowling  stones  at  the  horses'  legs  as  they 
trotted  by ;  which  last  was  excellent  fun  when  there 
was  a  wall  at  hand  behind  which  to  hide.  As  for 
chimney-sweeping,  and  being  hungry,  and  being  beaten, 
he  took  all  that  for  the  way  of  the  world,  like  the  rain 
and  snow  and  thunder,  and  stood  manfully  with  his 
back  to  it  till  it  was  over,  —  as  his  old  donkey  did  to  a 
hail-storm,  —  and  then  shook  his  ears,  and  was  as  jolly 
as  ever. 

One  day  a  smart  little  groom  rode  into  the  court 
where  Tom  lived.  Tom  was  just  hiding  behind  a  wall 
to  throw  half  a  brick  at  his  horse's  legs,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom of  that  country  when  they  welcome  strangers  ;  but 
the  groom  saw  him,  and  hallooed  to  him  to  know  where 
Mr.  Grimes  the  chimney-sweep  lived.  Now,  Mr. 
Grimes  was  Tom's  own  master ;  and  Tom  was  a  good 
man  of  business,  and  always  civil  to  customers  :  so  he 
put  the  half-brick  down  quietly  behind  the  wall,  and 
proceeded  to  take  orders. 

Mr.  Grimes  was  to  come  up  the  next  morning  to 
Sir  John  Harthover's  at  the  place ;  for  his  old  chimney- 
sweep was  gone  to  prison,  and  the  chimneys  wanted 
sweeping. 

Now,  I  dare  say  you  never  got  up  at  three  o'clock 
on  a  midsummer  morning.  Some  people  get  up  then 
because  they  want  to  catch  salmon ;  and  some  because 
they  want  to  climb  Alps ;  and  a  great  many  more 
because  they  must,  like  Tom. 

184 


HOW     THE     SWEEP     FOUND     HE     WAS     BLACK. 

So  he  and  his  master  set  out.  Grimes  rode  the 
donkey  in  front ;  and  Tom  and  the  brushes  walked 
behind,  out  of  the  court  and  up  the  street,  past  the 
closed  window-shutters,  and  the  winking  weary  police- 
men, and  the  roofs  all  shining  gray  in  the  gray  dawn. 

On  they  went ;  and  Tom  looked  and  looked,  —  for 
he  had  never  been  so  far  into  the  country  before,  —  and 
longed  to  get  over  a  gate  and  pick  buttercups,  and 
look  for  birds'  nests  in  the  hedge ;  but  Mr.  Grimes  was 
a  man  of  business,  and  would  never  hear  to  that. 

And  now  they  had  gone  three  miles  and  more,  and 
came  to  Sir  John's  lodge-gates.  But  Tom  and  his 
master  did  not  go  in  through  the  great  iron  gates  as  if 
they  had  been  dukes  or  bishops,  but  round  the  back 
way,  —  and  a  very  long  way  round  it  was,  —  and  into  a 
little  back-door,  where  the  ash-boy  let  them  in,  yawning 
horribly.  And  then  the  housekeeper  turned  them  into 
a  grand  room  all  covered  up  in  sheets  of  brown  paper, 
and  bade  them  begin,  in  a  lofty  and  tremendous  voice. 
And  so  after  a  whimper  or  two,  and  a  kick  from  his 
master,  into  the  grate  Tom  went,  and  up  the  chimney, 
while  a  housemaid  staid  in  the  room  to  watch  the 
furniture. 

How  many  chimneys  Tom  swept,  I  cannot  say ;  but 
he  swept  so  many  that  he  got  quite  tired,  and  puzzled 
too,  for  they  were  not  like  the  town  flues  to  which  he 
was  accustomed.  So  Tom  fairly  lost  his  way  in  them : 
not  that  he  cared  much  for  that,  though  he  W2u~  in 

1 86 


HOW     THE     SWEEP     FOUND     HE     WAS     BLACK. 

pitchy  darkness,  for  he  was  as  much  at  home  in  a 
chimney  as  a  mole  is  under  ground ;  but  at  last, 
coming  down,  as  he  thought,  the  right  chimney,  he 
came  down  the  wrong  one,  and  found  himself  standing 
on  the  hearth-rug  in  a  room  the  like  of  which  he  had 
never  seen  before. 

The  room  was  all  dressed  in  white.  The  carpet 
was,  all  over,  gay  little  flowers ;  and  the  walls  were 
hung  with  pictures  in  gilt  frames,  which  amused  Tom 
very  much. 

Under  the  snow-white  coverlet,  upon  the  snow- 
white  pillow,  lay  the  most  beautiful  little  girl  that 
Tom  had  ever  seen.  Her  cheeks  were  almost  as  white 
as  the  pillow,  and  her  hair  was  like  threads  of  gold 
spread  all  about  over  the  bed. 

"  She  never  could  have  been  dirty,"  thought  Tom  to 
himself.  And  then  he  thought,  "  And  are  all  people 
like  that  when  they  are  washed  ?  "  and  he  looked  at  his 
own  wrist,  and  tried  to  rub  the  soot  off,  and  wondered 
whether  it  ever  would  come  off.  "  Certainly  I  should 
look  much  prettier  then,  if  I  grew  at  all  like  her." 

And,  looking  round,  he  suddenly  saw,  standing  close 
to  him,  a  little  ugly,  black,  ragged  figure,  with  bleared 
eyes  and  grinning  white  teeth.  He  turned  on  it 
angrily.  What  did  such  a  little  black  ape  want  in  that 
sweet  young  lady's  room  ?  And,  behold !  it  was  him- 
self, reflected  in  a  great  mirror,  the  like  of  which  Ton* 
had  never  seen  before. 

IS" 


FATHER'S     PORTRAIT. 


And  Tom,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  found  out 
that  he  was  dirty,  and  burst  into  tears  with  shame  and 
angei. 


FATHER'S   PORTRAIT. 

"  FATHER,  let  me  paint  your  portrait ;  ah,  do  I "  said 
George.  "  How  is  one  ever  to  become  a  great  artist,  if 
one  does  not  try  ?  " 

"  George  wants  to  use  his  Christmas-present,"  cried 
Dick  :  "  he's  been  glued  to  that  old  easel  ever  since 
Monday  morning.  And  would  you  believe  it,  father, 
he's  even  painted  the  baby,  and  the  old  yellow  hen  ;  and 
now  he  wants  to  practise  on  you."  Dick  fell  to  laugh- 
ing so  hard,  that  he  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  floor. 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  without  trying,  my  boy," 
said  mother. 

"  Patience  and  perseverance  have  made  many  a 
fortune,"  said  grandma  gently. 

But  father  still  turned  over  the  newspaper,  with  no 
word  of  encouragement. 

"  Please  come  and  sit,  father,"  said  George  good- 
humoredly. 

"  I'm  sitting  very  comfortably,  thank  you,"  said 
father. 

"  But  come  to  the  studio,"  said  George,  "  and  sit  for 
your  picture." 

1 88 


FATHER'S     PORTRAIT. 


The  "  studio  "  was  a  store-closet  in  the  attic,  with  a 
north  window,  where  mother  had  allowed  George  to 
settle  for  a  time. 

•"The  studio!  —  ^  ha,  ha  1  "  laughed  Dick.      "I 
guess  I'll  go  down  to  my  summer-parlor >  and  hoe  corn." 

But  father  was  carried  off,  newspaper  and  all,  and 
seated  on  a  very  hard  chair  which  had  only  three  legs, 
and  which  had  to  be  propped  up  by  a  kindly  old  trunk. 
But  father  didn't  mind,  so  long  as  he  kept  his  paper. 

"  Now  turn  your  head  a  little  to  the  left,"  said 
George. 

"  All  right,  my  son." 

"  And,  father,  if  you  would  only  cock  your  hair  up 
a  little  more  on  the  forehead." 

Father  rubbed  his  hair  over  the  bald  spot  into 
quite  a  fine  little  top-knot. 

"  Father,"  said  George  in  five  minutes  more,  "  I 
think  if  you  smiled  a  little,  just  a  very  little,  you  know, 
and  opened  your  eyes,  we  might  get  along  better." 

So  father  smiled  a  great  deal,  and  opened  his  eyes 
as  wide  as  he  could. 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  great  success,"  said  George. 

"  Glad  of  it,"  said  father ;  "  for  I  really  must  go  in 
five  minutes." 

Of  course  no  artist  could  really  finish  a  portrait  in 
such  a  very  short  time ;  but  George  allowed  father  to 
show  the  picture  at  the  dinner-table,  after  he  had 
touched  it  up  a  little. 

IQO 


FATHER'S     PORTRAIT. 


"Is  that  father  ?"  cried  sister  Kate  as  the  picture 
passed  around.  "  He  looks  as  if  his  brain  had  been 
set  to  rise.  If  mother's  dough  worked  in  that  way, 
we'd  look  for  sour  bread." 

"  He  does  look  a  little  as  if  he  had  a  bad  fever," 
said  mother.  "  Perhaps  the  air  of  the  studio  didn't 
agree  with  him." 

"  Why,  father  !  "  cried  Dick,  "  you  look  as  slippery 
and  sweet  as  if  you  had  been  living  on  honey  and 
lard !  " 

Mother  saw  the  tears  gathering  in  George's  eyes ; 
and  she  said  very  kindly,  — 

"  I  think  George  improves.  It  really  seems  to  me 
this  is  better  than  the  old  yellow  hen." 

"  George  shall  have  lessons,"  said  father.  "  He'll 
make  an  artist  yet ;  for  he  knows  how  to  persevere." 

George  had  lessons  in  painting,  and  he  loved  to 
paint  more  and  more.  He  always  had  liked  it,  even 
before  he  knew  how.  His  patience  and  perseverance 
were  so  great,  that  in  five  years  he  painted  a  portrait  of 
father  which  even  sister  Kate  was  proud  to  hang  in 
the  front  parlor. 


191 


TWO     FAMILIES. 


Two   FAMILIES. 

ONCE  there  was  a  quiet  and  well-behaved  family, 
that  lived  in  a  comfortable  barn-yard. 

Top-Knot,  the  head  of  the  family,  was  a  fine,  hand- 
some fellow,  a  little  vain  of  his  bright  colors,  and 
particularly  of  his  long  tail-feathers,  which  he  carried 
behind  him  in  a  graceful  curve. 

But  he  was  faithful  in  his  duties.  He  never  failed 
to  cry  "  Cockadoodledoo  "  at  the  proper  times. 

No  matter  how  tired  and  sleepy  he  was,  he  always 
crowed  at  midnight.  The  hens  of  the  family  were  the 
very  nicest  of  hens. 

Speckle  had  the  prettiest  brood  of  chickens  in  the 
world,  —  little  soft,  downy  things ;  some  of  them 
speckled  like  herself,  and  some  bright  yellow  like  a 
canary. 

Silver- Wing  was  a  good-hen  too.  She  laid  a  fresh 
egg  every  day,  and  sang  "  Cutcutcadarcut "  as  loud  as 
any  one.  And  there  was  Yellow- Leg,  a  pretty  pullet ; 
and  many  more. 

Twice  a  day  the  farmer's  wife  called  "  Biddy,  biddy, 
biddy  1  "  They  all  lost  no  time  in  running  to  meet 
her ;  and  she  spread  them  a  nice  dinner  of  corn  or  meal 

192 


TWO     FAMILIES. 


on  the  smooth  glass,  and  they  had  a  sociable  time  eat- 
ing it  and  talking;  about  it. 

They  were  a  little  dissatisfied  with  their  hen-house, 

"  I  am  afraid  i^  is  not  safe,  my  dears,"  said  Top- 
Knot.  "  I  heard  once  of  a  fox  who  got  into  a  hen- 
house at  night,  and  killed  some  one;  and  I  im  sure 
a  fox  could  get  in  here,  if  he  wished  to." 

"  Goodness  !  "  said  Yellow- Leg :  "  what  a  terrible 
thing  to  happen  1  " 

Speckle  had  a  strong  coop  for  herself  and  her 
chickens  :  so  she  was  not  afraid  of  a  fox. 

"  I  must  speak  to  Rover  about  it,"  said  Top-Knot, 
"  the  next  time  I  meet  him." 

He  met  him  that  day. 

"  Rover,"  said  he,  "  did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
thing  as  a  fox  ?  " 

"  Fox,  indeed  I "  said  Rover,  and  he  smacked  his 
lips.  "  Some  think  a  watch-dog  knows  nothing  about 
a  fox ;  but  show  me  one,  and  I'll  show  you  what  I- have 
to  say  to  him." 

"  But,  Rover,"  said  Top-Knot,  "  did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  fox  in  a  hen-house  ? " 

"  Show  me  a  fox  in  a  hen-house,  and  I'll  be  the 
death  of  him,"  said  Rover. 

"  Look  at  this  place,"  said  Top- Knot.  "  Any  fox 
could  get  in,  if  he  had  a  mind  to." 

"  You're  right,"  replied  Rover.     "  He  could  indeed." 

"What's  to  be  done  about  it? "asked  Top-Knot 


TWO     FAMILIES. 


"  I  can't  mend  it.  What  is  master  thinking  of,  that  he 
leaves  us  so  unprotected  ?  Something  will  happen,  I 
am  sure." 

J I  don't  know  of  any  fox  round  here,"  said  Rover. 
-  I've  hunted  and  hunted.  I'll  tell  you.  You  know 
where  I  sleep,  under  the  steps.  If  you  hear  any  thing 
around  in  the  night,  just  call  to  me.  I  shall  hear  you. 
I  always  hear  you  crowing  away  when  every  one's 
asleep.  What  do  you  do  that  for,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  do  it,"  said  Top-Knot  with  dignity,  "  because 
some  one  must  do  it,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  the  one." 

Rover  was  called  away  then,  and  Top-Knot  went 
back  to  his  family. 

"  Rover  has  promised  to  take  care  of  us,  my  dears ; 
so  you  can  sleep  in  peace,"  said  he. 

Not  far  away,  on  the  hillside,  lived  another  family, 
not  so  quiet  or  well-behaved,  —  a  fox  and  her  six 
little  ones.  She  was  a  handsome  red  fox,  with  a 
splendid  bushy  tail,  and  black  tips  to  her  ears  ;  and  she 
had  very  bright  eyes,  and  could  see  in  the  dark. 

Her  little  ones  were  dear  little  soft  things  ;  but  they 
had  sharp  teeth,  and  would  have  bitten  you,  1  think,  if 
you  had  touched  them. 

They  were  hungry  little  things  too.  Nobody  ever 
called  them  to  their  dinners  and  suppers,  arid  spread 
nice  food  before  them  on  the  grass.  Their  poor  mother 
>ad  to  bring  them  every  thing  they  ate,  in  her  mouth ; 

IQ4 


TWO     FAMILIES. 


and  sometimes  it  was  at  the  risk  of  her  life :  for  if  a 
dog  saw  her,  or  even  thought  he  scented  a  fox  in  the 
air,  he  would  call  all  the  dogs  in  the  country ;  and  they 
would  make  such  a  touse,  that  she  would  be  lucky  if 
she  ever  saw  her  little  ones  again. 

"I  must  go  out  to-night  and  get  something  for 
these  poor  things,"  said  the  fox  to  herself.  "  Farmer 
Green  has  plenty  of  fat  chickens :  I  should  think  he 
might  spare  one  now  and  then."  So,  when  the  quiet 
night  came,  out  stole  the  fox.  She  ran  quickly  over 
fields  and  roads  till  she  came  near  Farmer  Green's 
hen-house.  All  was  still.  Rover  slept  well.  She 
crept  along  to  the  hen-house,  and  stepped  softly  in,  and 
there  saw  a  sight  that  made  her  mouth  water,  —  Top- 
Knot  and  three  or  four  fat  hens  in  a  row,  sound  asleep 
on  the  roost. 

"  What  a  supper  for  my  pets  I "  said  she  as  she 
gazed  at  them.  "  How  shall  I  get  one  ?  I  must  catch 
him  by  those  long  feathers ;  for  I  can't  reach  his  throat." 

She  stood  some  time  on  her  hind-legs,  with  one 
paw  on  a  cask,  thinking  if  there  was  any  better  plan, 
and  at  last  made  a  spring  at  Top-Knot's  tail-feathers. 

But  what  an  outcry  he  made  1  She  fled  in  terror, 
and  never  stopped  till  she  was  safe  in  her  burrow ;  for 
she  heard  Rover's  voice,  and  knew  he  was  waked  by 
the  clamor,  and  would  soon  be  there. 

He  was  on  the  spot  the  next  moment. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he. 
196 


CARRIE'S     PICNIC. 


"  Matter  enough,"  replied  Top-Knot.  "  I'm  more 
dead  than  alive.  Something  gave  a  terrible  pull  at  my 
feathers ;  and  it's  a  wonder  I  have  any  left." 

"  Nothing  to  be  seen,"  said  Rover.  "  You  dreamed 
it." 

"  Never  1 "  said  Top-Knot.  "  Wait  till  daylight,  and 
then  see." 

The  next  morning  Farmer  Green  came  to  find  what 
caused  the  disturbance. 

"  Aha  1  a  fox  has  been  here !  "  said  he.  "  I  must 
mend  this  old  hen-house  before  night." 

And  he  did,  to  be  sure. 

When  the  fox  mustered  courage  to  come  again,  she 
could  not  get  in. 

"  That  rogue  of  a  farmer  hasn't  left  a  crack  big 
enough  for  me  to  put  my  nose  through,"  said  she. 
"  Never  rnind,"  she  added  as  she  trotted  home  empty- 
mouthed  :  "  they're  tough  old  things,  I'll  be  bound." 


CARRIE'S     PICNIC. 

IT  was  Saturday  morning,  and  mother  was  very, 
busy ;  for  there  were  pies  and  cake  to  make,  and  a 
great  plum-pudding  for  Sunday.  Carrie  was  to  stone 
the  raisins,  and  beat  the  eggs,  and  shell  the  peas,  and 
any  other  odd  duties  which  her  little  hands  might  do 
Little  hands  are  very  useful  sometimes. 

197 


CARRIE'S     PICNIC. 


Carrie  had  always  liked  to  be  mother's  little  helper; 
but  to-day  the  girls  were  going  on  a  picnic  to  the  pine- 
woods,  and  how  she  wanted  to  be  with  them ! 

"  I'd  like  to  let  you  go,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother ; 
"but  I  have  too  much  on  hand.  Besides,  your  own 
gloves  are  out  at  the  fingers,  and  I  don't  think  you 
have  more  than  two  buttons  on  your  Sunday  shoes." 

Carrie  pouted,  and  looked  very  cross.  "  I  think  it's 
real  mean,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  could  go  just  as 
well  as  not." 

Carrie  was  stoning  the  raisins  when  the  little  girls 
went  by ;  but  we  may  as  well  confess  that  a  good  many 
naughty  little  seeds  were  left  for  people's  teeth  to  crack 
in  the  Sunday  pudding. 

"Oh,  dear!  there  they  go,"  she  sighed,  with  her 
little  face  as  cross  as  you  can  imagine:  "ain't  they 
having  good  times  ?  " 

Just  then  there  came  a  great  cry  from  the  nursery, 
which  told  mother  that  baby  was  in  trouble. 

"  No  one  is  quite  so  important  as  that  baby," 
thought  cross  little  Carrie  as  mother  threw  down  her 
cake-pans  and  ran  up  stairs. 

Then  a  naughty  thought  came  to  her.  The  girls 
were  only  a  little  past  the  house :  she  would  walk  with 
them  just  a  little  ways,  and  make  believe  she  was 
going  on  a  picnic  too.  Out  she  ran  in  the  hot  sun,  and 
she  saw  the  sun-bonnets  and  the  baskets  bobbing  up 
and  down  just  at  the  turning  of  the  road.  She  had 

198 


CARRIE'S     PICNIC. 


no  time  to  stop  for  a  bonnet  or  a  basket ;  but  she  ran 
shouting  after  them. 

"Why,  there's  Carrie!"  they  cried.  "Are  you 
coming,  Cad?" 

"  Just  a  little  ways,"  said  Carrie  stiffly. 

But  they  seemed  so  glad  to  have  her,  that  in  two 
minutes  she  was  quite  as  merry  as  they ;  and  they  went 
along  laughing,  and  picking  flowers,  until  Carrie  had 
quite  forgotten  the  raisins  and  the  peas,  and  the  holes 
in  her  Sunday  gloves. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  nice !  "  cried  they  all. 

But  just  then  a  great  drove  of  cows  came  along  the 
road  behind  them.  Meek,  harmless  old  cows  they 
were ;  but  they  seemed  very  fierce  and  savage  to  the 
little  girls.  They  all  began  to  run,  and  they  all  ran  in 
different  ways,  until,  the  first  thing  she  knew,  Carrie 
found  herself  all  alone  in  a  field  of  grass  that  was 
away  above  her  head.  There  were  no  cows  near  her ; 
but  she  roused  some  angry  bumble-bees,  which  stung 
her  cruelly  on  both  her  cheeks.  Carrie  cried  and  cried, 
and  wished  herself  back  stoning  raisins  again. 

"  I'll  mind  mother  next  time,"  she  said.  "  God  must 
think  I'm  very  naughty." 

"  Poor  dear  mother,  working  so  hard  all  alone !  "  she 
sobbed  as  she  went  trudging  up  the  dusty  road  about 
two  o'clock,  and  crept  shyly  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Well,  Carrie,  my  child,"  said  mother. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  stay  so  long,"  sobbed  Carrie.  "  I 
200 


A     MISERABLE     MAN. 


forgot,  and  I'm  awful  sorry.  The  cows  scared  us  so  1 
O  mother  I " 

Carrie  ran  into  mother's  arms.  She  couldn't  have 
been  more  sorry  than  she  was  when  mother  kissed 
ner. 

"  I  am  very  tired,  Carrie,"  she  said ;  "  and  little 
orother  has  had  a  bad  fall,  and  is  quite  sick.  You 
shall  go  up  and  sit  with  him,  and  think  of  what  you 
have  done." 

As  Carrie  thought  and  thought,  she  almost  wished 
mother  had  whipped  her.  It  seemed  to  make  it  so 
much  worse  to  think  that  mother  was  so  sorry  too ! 

"  I  never,  never  want  to  go  on  another  picnic  again 
as  long  as  I  live,"  thought  Carrie,  "if  mother  will 
only  forgive  me." 


A   MISERABLE   MAN. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  boy  who  cared  for 
nothing  but  money.  Every  bit  of  iron  he  saw,  and 
every  old  rag,  he  would  pick  up,  and  hide  away  in 
holes  and  hiding-places  around  his  father's  house,  till 
he  had  enough  to  sell  to  some  junk-man,  and  get  a  few 
pennies.  These  he  would  hide  away  in  the  garret, 
under  a  board  he  had  loosened  in  the  floor. 

Though  he  hated  work,  if  one  offered  him  a  few 
cents  for  doing  any  thing  —  no  matter  how  hard  or 

201 


A      MISERABLE     MAN. 


how  dirty  —  he  would  do  it  at  once,  and  eagerly  grab 
the  pay,  and  add  it  to  his  hoard  in  the  garret.  At 
night,  when  he  lay  in  his  bed,  he  would  be  making 
plans  to  get  money  ;  and  in  the  day-time,  when  he 
walked  about,  his  eyes  were  always  on  the  ground, 
eagerly  hunting  around  to  find  something  by  which  he 
could  get  a  few  cents. 

He  was  always  making  sharp  bargains  with  the 
boys ;  and  he  soon  became  so  eager  to  add  pennies  to 
his  box,  that  he  learned  to  cheat  them  and  trick  them : 
so,  very  soon,  they  would  not  trade  with  him.  And  as 
he  grew  older,  and  lost  his  interest  in  every  thing  but 
money,  the  boys  left  off  playing  with  him ;  and  at  last 
he  got  to  be  a  strange,  lonely  boy. 

He  never  saw  any  of  the  beauty  of  the  world.  He 
never  saw  the  blue  sky,  because  his  eyes  were  always 
in  the  dirt,  hunting  pennies.  The  beautiful  flowers 
and  the  grand  trees  he  never  looked  at.  The  birds 
sang  unheard,  the  brook  gurgled  over  the  stones, 
the  leaves  rustled  in  the  breeze ;  and  he  might  as  well 
have  been  deaf.  Money,  money,  money!  was  all  his 
thought. 

This  boy  grew  into  a  miserable  man,  or  what  we 
have  shortened  into  miser.  He  lost  all  his  friends ;  for 
who  can  love  one  who  thinks  of  nothing  but  gold? 
When  his  hiding-place  in  the  attic  was  full,  he  sewed 
the  money  into  his  clothes,  and  started  out  in  the  world ; 
for  he  was  now  almost  a  man,  and  his  father  —  who 

202 


A     MISERABLE     MAN. 


was  an  honest  worker  —  refused  to  feed  him  any  longer, 
since  he  would  neither  work,  nor  pay  for  his  food. 

He  went  to  a  large  city ;  and  there  he  traded  and 
hoarded,  and  starved  and  nearly  froze,  till  he  gathered 
together  a  large  amount  of  gold,  and  had  warehouses 
and  clerks,  and  carried  on  a  large  business.  But, 
though  he  grew  richer  and  richer,  he  still  lived  in  a 
rickety  tumble-down  building  that  the  owner  had 
deserted,  to  save  paying  rent ;  and  his  only  pleasure 
in  life  was  to  handle  and  count  his  gold. 

Miserable  wretch  1  with  no  comforts,  no  friends,  no 
home ;  nothing  in  the  wide,  beautiful  world  to  love  but 
gold ;  nothing  to  fear  but  that  some  one  will  steal  it. 

See  him  as  he  hears  the  rough  boards  that  serve 
for  a  blind  falling  under  the  hands  of  some  other  man 
who  loves  gold !  See  the  horror  in  his  greedy  face ! 
See  the  panic  with  which  he  stuffs  the  yellow  idol  into 
his  bag! 

See  the  narrow,  mean-souled,  unhappy  wretch,  who 
never  did  a  generous  or  useful  deed  in  his  life ;  who 
has  not  a  friend  to  shed  a  tear  for  him ;  who  has  given 
the  whole  world,  with  its  beauty  and  love  and  happi- 
ness, to  collect  a  pile  of  gold  which  other  people  will 
scatter  when  he  can  no  longer  hold  it  1 

To  desire  and  work  for  money  for  the  good  it  can 
do,  and  the  beautiful  things  it  can  bring  to  those  we 
love,  is  right  and  honorable ;  but  to  love  it  for  its  own 
sake,  merely  to  collect  a  vast  pile  of  it,  either  to  handle 

204 


THE     BIRD'S     WEEK. 


in  secret  like  this  miser,  or  to  make  people  stare, 
makes  one  mean  and  narrow,  and  puts  him  in  danger 
of  becoming  like  this  dreadful  picture,  —  a  miserable 
wretch. 


THE   BIRD'S  "WEEK. 

"  OH  I  where  have  you  been,  my  birdie  bright? 
Oh  !  where  have  you  been  since  Saturday  night 
What  have  you  seen,  and  what  have  you  heard  ? 
Oh  1  where  have  you  been,  my  darling  bird  ?  " 

"  Monday  I  hopped  on  the  woodbine  bower 
And  sucked  the  honey  from  many  a  flower ; 
From  bush  to  bush,  from  tree  to  tree, 
Raced  with  the  butterfly  and  the  bee. 
Then  next  to  the  milkmaid's  side  I  flew, 
As  she  went  out  in  the  morning  dew. 
She  milked  steadily  ;  I  sat  by : 
She  sang  merrily  ;  so  did  I. 
I  laughed  a  little,  though  sang  the  while, 
When  she  and  the  pail  fell  over  the  stile. 

"  Tuesday  it  rained  :  so  I  took  to  the  barn, 
And  perched  on  a  beam  to  be  safe  from  harm. 
A  large  black  cat  came  up  to  my  side : 
His  eyes  were  keen,  his  claws  were  wide. 
205 


THE     BIRD'S     WEEK. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  cowering  leer, 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Come  down,  my  dear ; " 
But  I  darted  that  moment  through  the  air, 
As  much  as  to  say,  '  Excuse  me,  sir.' 

"  Wednesday  I  rose  quite  stout  and  bold : 

The  flowers  were  jewels,  the  sky  was  gold. 

I  revelled  in  plenty  and  delight, 

When  I  thought  I  heard  the  scream  of  a  kite ; 

And  a  poor  little  dove  dropped  down  and  died, 

With  spots  of  blood  on  its  milk-white  side. 

Twas  a  pitiful  sight,  I  cannot  deny ; 

But  I  whispered,  '  Much  rather  the  dove  than  I.' 

'•'  Thursday  I  went  to  view  the  town  ; 

For  I  would  not  be  thought  a  country  clown. 

No  stable-gleanings  or  stunted  tree 

Were  meant  for  free-born  birds  like  me ; 

But  the  pert  young  sparrows  made  themselves  so  free, 

As  to  hint  that  I  was  not  good  company, 

Because  I  uttered  a  harmless  joke 

Of  their  little  black  jackets,  and  smell  of  smoke. 

"  Friday  I  joined  a  courtly  band 
Of  merry  wanderers  in  the  land  : 
The  cherries  were  ripe,  the  feasts  were  long, 
And  loud  and  clear  was  the  thankful  song. 

206 


THE      BIRD'S     WEEK. 

A  grave  old  judge  would  have  looked  away 
From  a  troop  of  thieves  so  glad  and  gay, 
Unless  this  judge  should  prove  to  be 
The  owner  of  that  same  cherry-tree. 

"  Saturday  I  was  picking  worms  at  a  cottage-door 

A  nurse  and  child  were  playing  before ; 

When  I  heard  the  cruel  old  monster  say, 

'  You  may  have  that  bird  for  your  dinner  to-day : ' 

To  catch  the  bird  you  will  not  fail, 

If  you  take  some  salt,  and  put  on  his  tail." 

But,  before  the  boy  could  turn  his  eye, 

I  was  a  mile  towards  the  sky. 

"  Sunday  I  made  the  steeple  my  perch 
To  watch  the  people  going  to  church  ; 
And,  when  they  were  in,  I  fluttered  about 
To  watch  the  people  coming  out. 
Many  nice  boys  I  looked  at  there, 
With  snow-white  collars  and  shining  hair ; 
But  among  them  all  I  could  not  see 
Any  like  James  or  little,  brave  Ben  to  me. 
So  now  I've  come  back  to  the  old  hall-door, 
Never  to  leave  James  or  Ben  any  more." 


208 


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